


part 1: the itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout...

by mydreamworldisbetter



Series: learning to be remade [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Baby natasha, Gen, The Red Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5771257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydreamworldisbetter/pseuds/mydreamworldisbetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Natasha Romanoff origin story.</p><p>I've done some serious editing. Originally, this was called "learning to be remade." That was before I realized that I wanted to make this into a series. I'm crap at updating regularly, but I'm also really stubborn, and this story is about the only thing that I am able to write right now, so have faith! I will finish it. I just don't know how long that will take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a rending

**Author's Note:**

> there's a sad lack of backstory on natasha and she's such a beautifully heartbreaking character with so much potential and i've been wanting to write all of this for ages. so here 'tis.

It began as a whisper in the village, a rumor in the countryside, a story in the cities. They were looking for the best of the young people, taking them away. No one ever saw their children again, or if they did, it was as a cold, empty shadow of their old selves. 

Valentin and Inga were young when the tale started. They would cling together, eyes wide and hearts beating fast when the big kids told detailed stories of the beady-eyed-tall-man and the sharp-nosed-skinny-woman who went from house to house, forcing the children to take tests of intelligence and running and jumping and punching and kicking, and if the children were good at the tests, then bad things would happen to the parents, and people would see the children years later, lethal and stone-faced and strangely, still young. 

They all feared Them. Even the grown-ups were uneasy, although they tried to hide it around the children. They murmured to each other, huddled in doorways and under trees, of what they would do if such a thing occurred. But it didn’t. No one came and everyone’s children were safe and gradually, the fear and the talk died down. The anxiety and terror moved to the back of their minds and were replaced by other, less-fanciful worries. 

 

Valentin’s father was a farmer, a kind man who never made much money because of his generosity. A few eggs here, a cup of milk there. A bushel of grain here, an acre of land there. Board and meals in exchange for a few stories and a little help on the farm. 

Valentin admired his father’s kindness, to be sure. But he also saw the way that he and siblings and mother were put second instead of first, and he vowed that he would not do the same. He was a smart lad who always did well in school and knew that he could have nearly any career that he wished. And so, when the day came, he took his bride and himself straight to the city to teach young children. He found it not to his liking. The children did not want to learn, and even when they did, it was impossible for them to learn because they were too poor, too hungry, too tired, too overworked. It was a passionate teacher’s nightmare. 

The air was smelly and everything was loud all the time--people trying to sell things and fighting and horses and animals going through the streets. Valentin had grown up in the countryside, where the air was sweet and the people healthy and the food filling, where there was quiet and calm and no competition to rise to the top. 

“Inga,” he said one day to his wife over their meal of cold soup, “Inga. I was wrong about moving away and being a city man. I want to go home.” 

Inga glanced up at him warmly, eyes shining soft in candlelight. “Yes,” she said, rubbing her slender, delicate fingers over his rough hand. “Let’s go home.”

Valentin took over his father’s farm within a few months, and he soon found great joy in giving. Inga grew filled-out and motherly-looking and healthy and happy far away from the city. 

“Inga,” Valentin said to his wife, “this country air has done you good. I love your plump cheeks and your plump stomach and your plump legs and your...your overall plumpness. It makes me believe that all is right with the world.”

Inga grinned and kissed Valentin gently. “That is because,” she whispered against his lips, “I am going to have a baby.”

Valentin’s eyes opened wide. “A baby?” he gasped, his breath coming fast.

“A baby, love. A baby of our own. And we shall have many, many more and fill up this old farmhouse with beautiful, smart, giving children and love everyone and feed the world with sweet air and rich food and warmth and kindness.”

“A baby. Made of you and I. Ah, Inga.” Valentin’s face glowed and glowed. His smile stretched wide across his face. 

 

When the baby was born, it was the middle of winter, icy and cold and bitter. Valentin was dreadfully worried about Inga and the baby both, so he made sure to build up the fire in the fireplaces and stoves and cover all the doorways and windows with cloths to keep the cold at bay. Nothing, he thought, nothing is more important than my family right now.  
The midwife, a kind-eyed, silver haired woman, smiled at his worry. Inga was young and strong, and besides, this farm and this birth were hallowed. Nothing bad could possibly happen. And nothing did. The labor was short for a first child, and the birthing itself was quick. The worst of the pain only lasted for a few minutes. When Inga at last pushed their daughter out, she landed straight in her father’s towel-covered arms. She and he started to cry at the same time. 

“Ah, Inga,” he gaped, “it’s a girl, a little girl.”

“Let me see her,” Inga said, her breath coming fast from the pain and the love and every emotion in between. With awe in her eyes and her heart, she held her daughter for the first time. 

The midwife let them have the first moments to themselves, and then, reluctant to intrude on the miracle, touched Valentin’s arm. “Come with me and we will wash her and wrap her up warmly, and then Inga can feed her.” 

“Of course,” Valentin said eagerly. 

Inga’s mother walked through the door just then, all bundled up. Snow dusted her coat. “I’m sorry I’m late. The storm made it impossible to--oh! Oh! Inga! You have had the baby!”

“Yes, mama, and it’s a little girl. And look at her! She’s perfect.”

The midwife helped Inga’s mother out of her wrappings. “Teach Valentin how to wash his child,” she said, “and I’ll help Inga deliver the afterbirth.”

When they came back, Inga was sitting up on the bed, swathed in blankets and beaming. She held out her arms to take the baby, scrubbed clean and pink and crying. 

“Feed her, darling,” her mother said in a low voice.

She did. Everyone sat in awed silence, listening to the crackle of the fire and murmurs of contentment from baby to mother.

“Look at her,” whispered Valentin, scarcely daring to breathe. “She is beautiful. She has your red hair, Inga.”

“And your sweet chin.”

“And look at her eyes!”

“The shade of the sky in summertime.”

"They look like yours, all wide and wondering and framed by those thick, curly lashes.”

Inga giggled. “Now you’re reaching for ways we look alike, silly. My eyes are green.”

“I’ll bet that they change. Most babies’ eyes do, you know.”

“Look at her little nose and all of her perfect, perfect fingers.”

The midwife, quietly cleaning up, watched them all huddled round each other. This was her favorite part, the discovery, the exploration of what a new life means. She knew that they would be happy together, forever probably. And this house, this family, was hallowed.

 

They named her Yana, after Inga’s mother. She was the light of their life. Time seemed to freeze in little valuable moments, and yet it had never gone so quickly. Before they knew it, she was smiling, then laughing, then talking and walking. She loved to help out on the farm, to gather eggs and brush the horses and try to milk the cows with her tiny hands.  
Valentin was right. Her eyes turned green within a few months, and her hair grew brighter and brighter, until it seemed that the tousled curls were on fire when the sun hit them just right. And then, Yana learned to love giving to the many people who came to the farm for aid or fellowship. Life was perfect. Oh, sure, there were little squabbles and worries, like why hadn't Valentin told Inga there were visitors coming? and who let Yana play in the corn bin by herself? and the cow is sick should we send for the knacker or see if she'll get better? But mostly life was good. It went on and everything was good. 

And then, one day, there was a knock on the door. “Hang on,” Inga called. “Let me wash my hands. I’ll be right there.” She rushed to greet the stranger, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, apron damp.

A man and a woman stood close together, dressed all in gray and black. 

“Hello,” said Inga, smiling widely. “Can I do anything for you? Offer you food? A place to stay? Work?”

They did not smile back. Inga looked them up and down, noting their sternness and stiffness, the woman’s sharp nose and the man’s beady eyes. A warning tickled the back of her mind, but she pushed it away, forcing the smile back onto her face.

“Come in,” she said, gesturing in a graceful arc to the table inside the room. “Yana,” she whispered to the little girl who had suddenly appeared behind her and was now waving chubby hands at the visitors, “go and fetch your father from the barn.” Yana skipped off, exuding confidence and joy with every step. Inga was unexpectedly very conscious of how bright and beautiful her daughter was.

She glanced back up to the ominous pair. She couldn’t smile at them anymore.

“We are here,” said the woman, clipped and firm and chilling, “to conduct a small series of tests and interviews.”

“Tests. And interviews. What-whatever for?” said Inga thickly.

“Government purposes. Classified,” said the man, his voice oiled machinery. He and the woman, with the same, efficient movement, removed a card from the breast pocket of their uniforms. Inga barely had time to glance over the badges before they put them away.

“Of course,” she said, swallowing hard. “Who do you need to interview?”

“Your daughter. Yana Vasilek.”

And then, Inga knew. And then her husband walked through the door, Yana giggling in his arms. He was laughing too. Both were shining so brightly. The sun blazed behind them, setting their silhouettes afire and all-of-the-sudden, Inga knew that this was the last purely beautiful thing she would see.

“Hello, friends, and welcome,” Valentin was saying in his high, lilting voice. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” said the man, standing up. He towered above everything in the room. 

“Valentin, darling. They’re here to interview Yana,” said Inga quietly.

“Interview...Yana...?” Valentin said slowly, looking from his wife to the strangers to the child in his arms. He set her down carefully, still holding her close to to his body. “Whatever could they want with this little kitten?”

Yana laughed and broke away from Valentin’s grasp. She ran out of the room and was soon back, holding two glasses of water. “Here you go, friends. Fresh water for you. How have your travels been?” she said in her husky little voice.

“Fine, thank you,” said the woman, staring at Yana closely.

Valentin glanced separately from wife to daughter.

“Yana,” said Inga, gently stroking Yana’s hair, “these people are going to ask you some questions and have you do some tests.”

“Like the school kids do?”

“Yes, love.”

“Okay. Why are you going to test me, friends?” 

“To see how good you are, little girl.”

“I’m very good. And kind. Mama and Papa always tell me that.”

“Good at being smart and strong and fast,” said the man drily. 

“I work on the farm. I know all the best places of where the chickens hid their eggs and I carry buckets of milk without spilling.”

“We’ll see, little girl.” The woman smiled. Her teeth seemed sharp and pointed. “Let’s begin. What is your name?”

“Yana Vasilek.”

“How old are you?”

“Nearly five.” 

“What are your parents’ names?”

“Mama and Papa but also Inga and Valentin because everyone has lots of names.”

“Can you read?”

“I’ve never been to school.”

“That was not the question, Yana. Can you read?”

“Yes.”

“Who taught you?”

“Me.”

“How did you learn?”

“Papa always reads to me and he runs his finger under the words and I just started to know them.”

“Read this.”

“Doctors...have...discovered...a new...serum...that...allows...aging...to slow...down...drastically--”

“Good.”

“Yana, do you see this maze?”

“Yes.”

“Find the quickest way out. There are lots of roads, but you must find the shortest.”

“Tell me what you see in this picture.”

“Explain to me how the machine in this picture works.”

And on it went. Inga and Valentin were breathless, torn with anxiety, wanting their daughter to show her brilliance and yet wishing for a quick disqualification to save them all. But she was flawless.

“We have finished with the mind tests,” said the woman finally.

“Can I have a break?” asked Yana. She looked tired and like a little of the life had gone out of her eyes.

“Yes,” said Inga, wrapping her arms about her.

“No,” said the woman.

“Please--”

“No,” said the man and woman together.

“We must see how she responds to pressure, to fatigue, when she is at the end of the rope.”

Inga nodded weakly, willing the tears that had just appeared in her eyes to go away lest they worry her daughter.

“Come. We go outside.”

“Here’s your coat, dear.”

“No coat,” said the man. “She’ll be plenty warm when she starts moving. 

There were several large bags outside. The man and the woman each went to one, pulling out several pieces of equipment.

“These are things for you to punch and kick at,” said the woman. “Yana, the man is going to hold them and I’m going to tell you how to hit them, okay?”

“Okay,” said Yana, a little warily.

“Punch it like this: left-right, left-right, see? One-two. One-two.”

“Okay.” Yana punched the target, her tiny fists bouncing off as soon as they landed.

“No,” said the woman, tapping Yana’s head with her hand. “Like this. Watch.”

“I see. Oh, I see.” 

“Now do it again.”

She did it. To Inga and Valentin’s eyes, there were no differences between the first and second attempts. But it seemed to satisfy the man and the woman, for they nodded to each other. 

“Good. Now again. Again. Again.”

They went through a variety of movies, waiting to move on until she understood each one was well as a young child could.

 

Yana was exhausted. It had been hours since they arrived, since the testing had begun. Sweat drenched her hair, extinguishing the wild flames.

The woman looked at her. She appeared to be satisfied. “You have done well this day, little Yana. There are two tests left only.”

Yana stood up straight. “I can do them.”

Inga felt pride burning bright in her chest. Her hand found Valentin’s and they squeezed each other, held on tightly, finding and giving comfort.

“They will take her away from us, you know,” Inga said.

“I will not let them,” Valentin whispered back, his voice fierce.

“What can we do?” Inga asked hopelessly. “It is the government. We are nothing, invisible, ants to be squashed.”

“With my life, I will make sure she stays on this farm.”

“You are a good, good man, my Valentin.”

“Show me your chickens, Yana,” the woman was saying. Yana took the woman’s hand in her own and pulled her to the coop, a low-ceilinged, spacious building.

“Which one is your favorite, Yana?”

“This one, my Kurochku,” she said, pointing to a massive brown hen.

The woman picked up the hen, dangling it upside down by its feet.

“What are you doing to my chicken?” Yana cried, her voice shrill and frantic. 

The woman marched out of the coop, Yana following closely and attempting to wrench her bird free. The woman pulled out a small knife. “Kill it.”

“What?”

“Kill the hen.”

“No. I don’t kill things, and especially not my favorite.”

“Kill the hen.”

Yana burst into tears. “I won’t do it.”

“You will.”

Yana fell to the ground, sobbing frantically. “I shan’t.”

“You shall.”

“Why? Why must I kill her?”

“Because I told you to. We’ll sit here until you’re ready.”

Yana cried for a long time. The sun went down slowly. The woman crouched beside her, humming tunelessly. At last, her sobs slowed down. She raised a tear-stained, swollen face to the woman.

“Must I?” she said plaintively.

“You must.”

“Okay.” She stood up reluctantly, body tense and trembling. The woman handed her the knife.

“How do I...”

“However you wish.”

“But how do I do it so it...”

“Causes the least pain?”

“Kills her the quickest.”

The woman stared at her. “The neck. She will bleed out and jerk around but it is the easiest. The most humane.”

“Okay.”

“Calm yourself. Be still, child.”

Yana pressed two fingers upon the hen’s breast. “I love...I love...”

And then she drew the blade across the hen’s neck and watched the frantic blood turn the grass dark.

“You did well, little Yana,” said the woman respectfully after a long, painful silence. 

Yana raised her head. Her nostrils were flared and her chest rose and fell rapidly. She appeared completely feral, her eyes wild and unfocused. Blood drenched the front of her shift.

“You. Have. Unmade me,” she hissed.

And then from behind the bushes, a large man jumped out, howling wildly of death and agony and harm and hurtled towards her and the knife was still warm and wet in her hands and he was reaching out to grab her and so she raised it and drove it hard into his fat belly and she liked the guttural cry he let out and so she drew it out and stuck it in again and again and strong hands were holding onto her and wresting the knife from her hands and then there was a sharp pain in her neck and everything tasted sweet while the world spun away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah. yana is natasha in case you hadn't figured out. i had an idea that when girls come to the red room, every human part of them is already being stripped away, and so they may as well receive a new name. having a name is having an identity. without that, one doesn't feel altogether real. and with a new name, one might feel completely different. so therefore headcanon.


	2. the calm before a---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah. yana is natasha in case you hadn't figured out. i had an idea that when girls come to the red room, every human part of them is already being stripped away, and so they may as well receive a new name. having a name is having an identity. without that, one doesn't feel altogether real. and with a new name, one might feel completely different. so therefore headcanon.

Yana awoke to the sound of low voices around the kitchen. The room was dim. She was wrapped in a quilt. Her hair was damp. She smelt of soap. She lifted up her hands and looked at them. “Murderer,” she whispered to herself, setting her teeth so she wouldn’t cry. 

“I’m telling you no!” said a loud voice. It was Valentin.

“You have no choice.” Yana’s heart beat fast. She knew they were talking about what to do with her. They probably wouldn't want her, neither mama and papa or the man and the woman. She shivered. 

“I do, for she is my daughter. and she does not belong to you or your government. She is ours and she belongs on this farm. With us. It is her home. Who knows what she will become under your hands?”

“She will be capable, deadly, skilled. Everything an agent or spy or assassin needs to be.” The man sounded tired and frustrated.

“But I would much rather that she be kind, generous, good. _Happy _. She will not be happy with you.”__

__Inga’s soft tones gave Yana peace. She stood up and padded to the kitchen._ _

__“Mama,” she said._ _

__“Yana. Come here, love.” Her mother picked her up and held her closely. “Yana, we have a question for you.”_ _

__“What is it, mama?”_ _

__“These people wish to train you to be a spy and an--an assassin.”_ _

__“What’s that?”_ _

__“A person who gets hired to...to do jobs for other people. Hard jobs. Anyways, they want to take you to a place with lots of other girls who are all training to be the same thing. If you succeed, the government takes care of you and you get lots of money and it would be much more exciting than life on this old farm.”_ _

__“I don’t want to. I want to stay here. Here is home.”_ _

__“I know, love.” She pressed Inga’s head tight against her chest. “Do you see?” she said quietly to the man and the woman._ _

__They sighed. “We don’t have time for pity,” said the woman. “This is our job. We have to bring back the best. She’s the best.”_ _

__“You can create other children, you know,” said the man impatiently. “She’s not that special.”_ _

__“Then why do you want her so badly?” Valentin snapped. “This is something we have feared happening to us since we were young, and now it is real and happening to our _daughter _? It’s worse than anything we were ever afraid of. It’s 1,000 times worse. She’s already going to be disturbed up from what you put her through today. Am I going to allow her to experience this trauma for the rest of her life? No. She is my daughter. I would die before I allowed you to take her away.”___ _

____“Alright,” said the woman. “We don’t like to forcibly remove children from their parents. It’s bad form. We shall not take her.”_ _ _ _

____“But remember,” said the man, standing up, “if anything happens to the both of you, the government becomes her guardian, and then you will have no say over what shall be done with her.”_ _ _ _

____“Nothing shall happen,” said Inga, the words so deep in her throat they were almost a growl. “Nothing shall happen.” It was a promise, bathed in fear and hope both._ _ _ _

____“You’ll need to go into town and send this document signed to the address on the envelope in order for us to legally leave her behind,” said the man, handing a paper-wrapped package to Valentin._ _ _ _

____“Good day, Vasileks,” said the woman. She reached over to pat Yana’s head, but Yana sat up, looking the woman square in the face. She reached out her hand and shook the woman’s, staring into her eyes._ _ _ _

____“Good day,” said Yana quietly, seeming a thousand years older than almost-five, for her eyes appeared ancient and soulless._ _ _ _

____The woman turned and walked out the door, the man following closely behind them. Valentin leaped up and locked the door as soon as they were gone. The engine of a powerful car roared into the night. They all sat there for a while in silence, relishing being alone together and wondering if it was real, if they really had escaped with their lives and if everything was going to be okay._ _ _ _

____Then a tiny voice spoke up. “Did I kill that man, mama?”_ _ _ _

____Inga knew then that they were not going to be okay, that the man and the woman and their curséd program had broken something beautiful and irreparable in her daughter. “No, dear,” she said, murmuring into her child’s ear. “They told us that he had a suit on filled with pig’s blood to stimulate an attack, in case you decided to defend yourself and us.”_ _ _ _

____“But I liked it, mama. I liked to make him hurt. I liked to be strong. I'm a monster.”_ _ _ _

____“Sleep, dear. Your mind is all tired out. You don’t understand everything that happened today. It wasn't your fault. Nothing was. Sleep and let your mind be cleaned.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Inga carried her daughter up the stairs to her bed and laid her there and covered her with blankets. She sat there for a while, watching the girl’s face, how peaceful and innocent and untroubled it was. She stayed there for so long, just watching, that Valentin finally crept upstairs to check on them. The moonlight cast dull shadows through the window. Everything had a silvery light about it._ _ _ _

____“My two favorite ladies,” he murmured, feeling love and gratefulness and relief wash over him in a sudden rush._ _ _ _

____Inga heard his low tones, and finger over her lips, tiptoed over to him. He put his arms out to her, catching her body as she sagged against him. “It’s alright. It’s okay.” He held her for many minutes, listening to the sound of Yana’s breathing, feeling the beat of Inga’s heart against his chest. Finally, he drew back, looking carefully at her face, into her eyes. She appeared to be many years older than she had looked in the morning, haggard and exhausted and pained. “You have been very brave this day,” he said quietly, a little awed in her presence._ _ _ _

____Inga reached up and touched his face with just her fingertips, feeling the planes of it in the darkness, tucking wayward strands of straw-colored hair behind his ears. “And you,” she said, “were safety itself. I thought...I’m glad you were there because if it had been just me, they would have taken her for sure because I would not know what to do and you are so strong and safe and you...”_ _ _ _

____“Hush, love.” Valentin tilted her chin up, wiped the tears from her eyes. And then he kissed her, gently and carefully so as not to break her fragile body. But Inga pressed against him, aggressive and hungry. Her lips communicated her fear and confusion and anger, and Valentin took her her pain upon himself and absorbed it and it disappeared into the air between them. And then they remembered where they were and moved away from each other, blushing into the darkness._ _ _ _

____“Come on,” Valentin said. “Let’s go downstairs. She’ll be alright. She’s in her own bed.”_ _ _ _

____He slipped an arm about her waist, bringing her tightly against his body. When she stumbled on a step, he picked her up, bridal style, and carried her rest of the way. She was too drained to protest._ _ _ _

____As they were entering their room, Inga remembered something they had to do. “The document!” she said abruptly, her voice muffled against his jacket._ _ _ _

____“The document?”_ _ _ _

____“They gave it to us so she doesn’t have to go...”_ _ _ _

____“Ah yes.” It was still there, sitting innocently on the kitchen table. Valentin set his wife in a chair and picked up the packet gingerly. He slipped a finger under the string and pulled it off and removed the contents from their paper wrapping. It was a thick stack of papers, ones filled with black, rigid lettering spelling out official-sounding language._ _ _ _

____“Darling, let’s take care of this tomorrow,” he said._ _ _ _

____“No,” she said, sounding panicked, “tonight. Now. Please.”_ _ _ _

____“They will not take back their word. She is safe.”_ _ _ _

____“Tonight. Please, Valentin.”_ _ _ _

____Valentin ran his fingers through his hair helplessly. “Alright,” he sighed. Inga’s face softened with satisfaction and relief. He looked at the first page, fixing his eyes on rows and rows of long, stiff words and began to read out loud. He read till his voice soothed Inga, till her eyelids fluttered weakly, till her head drooped, minuscule degrees at a time towards the surface of the table, till her breathing evened out and slowed. Until she slept and slept, resting on the table. Valentin didn’t dare to move her. So he lay down on the floor next to her so that the first thing she would see when she awoke was him._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Yana woke early. Her body ached. She could barely move. Hissing, she sat up, pushing the sore muscles into submission. It was still dark outside, but she could make out the same familiar details of the farm. “Why do I hurt so badly?” she said. And then everything that happened the day before came rushing back to her in exquisite detail and bile came flying to her throat but she swallowed it down. It burned her mouth and stomach. She remembered the voices and questioning and kicking and killing and remembered her little chicken’s blood raining on the ground and tears stung her eyes but she set her jaw and sent them back to where they came from._ _ _ _

____“I wonder if I can remember the moves I learnt yesterday,” she said curiously, to take her mind off of her transgressions. She could. They hurt, so she started out small, paying meticulous attention to getting every movement precise and correct. And that is how Valentin found her, kicking and punching the air. He stood watching her for a while, noting how wrong it looked for her tiny body to be practicing deadly movements. And then he couldn’t take it anymore and cleared his throat and strode into the room and picked her up and swung her about, kissing her face and whispering the nonsense words that made up their special language. And Yana talked and giggled back as a young child should do. But there was a piece missing, and both of them knew it._ _ _ _

____“Let’s go eat breakfast,” Valentin said._ _ _ _

____“Good,” she said. “I’m hungry.”_ _ _ _

____Valentin set her down. She winced as her body touched the ground. “Are you sore from...yesterday?” Valentin asked gently. She nodded, suddenly sober. “Come on, little kitten. Let’s go.”_ _ _ _

____Downstairs, bacon sizzled in the pan, and gravy and biscuits already sat on the table. “Where’s Mama?” Yana asked, looking around._ _ _ _

____“She went to town on an errand, love. She’ll probably be home before nightfall.”_ _ _ _

____“How come you didn’t go?”_ _ _ _

____“She wanted some time to clear her head.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh.” Yana sighed, staring morosely out the window. “I wish I could have said goodbye to her.”_ _ _ _

____Valentin’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. She had never been clingy before._ _ _ _

____“She’ll be back soon.”_ _ _ _

____“I know. I just have a bad feeling in my stomach. I feel sick and worried, papa.”_ _ _ _

____“She just left a few minutes ago. We can take the horse and catch up to her if you want.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, please.”_ _ _ _


	3. the pain that we are made of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i was doing research on extraordinarily talented/bright children, i came across this list of early, tell-tale signs:
> 
> "1. Your child speaks at a very early age and has a large vocabulary. Speaking not only in advanced phrases but also in complete sentences early on is typical.  
> 2\. Your child is an early reader with a preference for advanced topics. Forget Harold and the Purple Crayon. Your child is reading at several levels above the typical age group and would prefer a book on art history.  
> 3\. Unique hobbies and interests fascinate very bright children. Gifted kids usually have a very detailed knowledge of certain subjects. They’d rather discuss bird watching than Big Bird. And they’d rather discuss it with adults, not kids.  
> 4\. A quick capacity for learning and retention combined with an intellectual curiosity make your baby Einstein an original thinker with strong reasoning skills.  
> 5\. Extremely bright children have long attention spans with a high energy level. They have unusual memories and enjoy numbers, puzzles, and mazes. They also tend to be perfectionists."  
> (https://www.bundoo.com/articles/5-signs-your-kid-may-be-a-genius/)
> 
> so lest you think that i'm just using the imaginative powers of the fanfiction author wayy too freely, yes i probably am. but i wanted to make it clear that she's been basically a genius right from the beginning, and that it's not just her training that's made her so adept.

Inga was surprised to find her husband and daughter come barrelling towards her on the grey gelding, both yelling joyfully at the top of their lungs. 

“Mama! Mama!” came Yana’s childish voice.

How much she sounds like me, Inga thought, smiling at the thought. 

“Mama! Mama,” shouted Valentin. Inga had to laugh at them.

“Coming along?” she called back.

“No. Our little kitten here decided she wanted to say goodbye to her mama,” he said solemnly. Inga looked into his face, fully expecting to see his eyes twinkling with joy. But his expression was serious, and his brow was furrowed. 

“Of course,” she said. “I’m sorry, Yana. I should’ve woken you up or waited or something. Come here, love.” She took her off of the horse, burying her nose in the girl’s hair and breathing the clean soap smell and squeezing love into her. 

“You’re good,” she whispered, over and over into her her ear. “You’re good you’re good you’re good."

Yana’s little hands ran over her mother’s back, then over her face, memorizing the planes. “I had a bad feeling, mama,” she said. “I wanted to make sure to say goodbye, to say I love you.”

An unpleasant shiver etched it's way down Inga’s spine, but shaking it off, she kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You are very wise, little one,” she said. “Now, I have some errands to run. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

“Don’t go, mama. Wait til tomorrow.”

“I can't, baby. To protect us all, I can't.”

Yana sighed, tears shining in her eyes. “I will miss you. Come back to me. Please.”

“I will. I promise.” 

Valentin pulled his daughter back onto the horse. Leaning down, he kissed his wife's forehead. It was a bittersweet thing, a promise, a question. Inga clasped his hand in hers. The air was very still and thick and everyone's head pounded. So Inga broke away and started walking and waved to them and Valentin clucked to the grey gelding who started off at his usual heavy pace and they looked back to each other until they couldn't see each other anymore. 

Walking to town, Inga’s back prickled. She had the strange sense that someone was watching her. “There are lots of creatures in these woods,” she said aloud, noting the way her words chased away the fear. So she sang to herself, deep and low in her throat, the way it was most comfortable. 

She reached the town just before noon. It always felt strange to be entering a place that was a necessity for them, a place that she had friends in, but a place that had never been home. She stopped at the pump and washed her hands and face and smoothed back her hair. She reached into the pack on her back and touched the package as if for reassurance. And she strode forward, marching for the post offices. People that she recognized dimly waved to her and called out, but she merely nodded to them before pushing on. Finally, she reached the little building where the postmaster and his wife lived and worked. Opening the door, she rung the bell and called for aid. “Nadia. It’s Inga.”

“Ah, Inga,” said Nadia, bustling into her desk. “It’s pleasant to see you this morning. Can I do anything for you?”

“Yes. Yes please,” said Inga. “Can you mail this off as soon as possible? And please, take the utmost care. This is the most important thing I’ve ever mailed. It...it ensures the...the safety of my family.” She knew she sounded frantic, perhaps even insane. But she didn't care. They could think whatever they wanted. As long as Yana was safe, as long as they were all safe, all free, then she was happy with being the mad woman on the Vasilek Farm. 

Nadia stared at her from beneath bushy brows, then shrugged. Inga wasn't crazy. The only thing she herself could do was to send the packet as quickly and safely as possible. “It's safe with us, dear. Care to stay a while? I'll put on some water for tea?”

“You're very kind. But I've got to get home.”

“Why the rush?” Nadia inquired. 

“I-it's hard to explain. Someday, you'll know. But I can't right now...”

“Alright. Someday soon, you must bring that wonderful family of yours over for the day to town. Yana is wonderfully curious and smart. I'm sure she would love it. And I'd love to make dinner.”

“We would love to,” smiled Inga. “Goodbye, Nadia.”

“Good day.” Inga hurried off, load lightened. Her heart pounded. Please, she prayed, please let it arrive safely. Please don't let it get lost. Please let it do its magic and save us. Please. 

She stopped by the bakers and purchased a few rolls. Yana would like them, sweet and glazed and totally foreign as they were. She was excited now to get back home. Her steps quickened as she left the town and walked the familiar road home. Passing through the forest, she felt the eyes again. With them came an urgent sense of danger. The back of her neck prickled. Her stomach seized. She heard rustling in the bushes and froze, searching the brush for something, something to fight or run away from. “Valentin,” she whispered frantically, against reason. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t help her. But still, she called for him.

And then she felt arms grasping her from behind and she shrieked and a hand was clamped over her mouth, fingers squeezing her jaw til she stopped struggling and sagged limply against the body that was holding her down, causing her pain. There were two people now, the one holding her and one in a heavy coat in front of her. The heavy coated one examined her, grabbing her wrist and taking her pulse. He reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out a wooden box and shook it, grinning at Inga. He opened the box and pulled out a small canvas bag that writhed with movement. Gingerly, he reached inside the bag and pulled out a thrashing viper. Inga shuddered. 

The man knelt down before her, and almost tenderly, lifted up her skirt, exposing her ankle. He touched it gently with the tip of his fingers. Inga's stomach lurched. Forcing a stick inside the snake’s mouth to open it, he pressed the animal to her leg. She was too frightened, too shocked to resist. She felt the fangs slip in and stay there, pumping venom. 

It burned. Like fire. The first man let her slip out of his arms and sit on the ground, holding her ankle. They both stared at her, almost sympathetically. One kept checking his watch, tapping his foot. “Okay,” he said after probably a thousand years-that’s how it seemed to her- “It’s been long enough.”

He opened her bag and dumped out the contents. There was a small knife at the bottom that Inga always kept there, for just-in-case. He picked it up and removed it from the sheath. Inga just stared at him dumbly. What was happening to her right now? Who were these men and why and how and her knife and...

He tossed it neatly the the snake man, who caught it and tested the blade with his finger, nodding. “This is going to hurt, okay?”

“Oh-okay,” Inga gasped. He cut away the stockings away from her ankle . She noted that her leg was swollen already, the bite standing out red and raw in the puffy flesh. He cut away at her dress, pulling a long strip off of it, and wrapped it about her leg above the cut tightly so that it throbbed.

And then he pushed the knife deep into her leg between the wounds and cut there. The blood rushed out frantically and Inga arched her back and screamed because it was the worst pain she’d ever felt and her heart beat faster and faster and the world spun around in front of her and darkened and the last thing she heard was a voice hissing viciously and victoriously in her ear, “You should have just given her up to us in the first place,” and then she couldn’t see anything anymore and her heart beat and beat and beat out of her chest nearly. But despite the fear, despite the fire within her veins and muscles and bones, the last thing she thought of was her two beautiful people with the sun behind them, lighting them up, and love flowed through her and the pain went away just before the time that she did. 

 

Agents 46a and 115k wondered for a moment why their subject was smiling as she died, but they didn’t wonder long. Careful not to touch the blood that continued to leak profusely from the gash in her leg, they placed the knife in her hand and closed her fingers around it tightly, holding them tightly until they locked. They tried to push her face around, tried to contort it to reflect the agony that her last moments demanded. But it remained smiling. Peaceful. Radiant. They pushed away the unease and left the scene, allowing the snake slither away into the forest. Let it put some villagers to sleep. They didn’t care. Their work was done. They could report to their officers and maybe get some praise for once, since all Their focus was on the new project and its occupants. The little girls. What could little girls do that they themselves couldn’t? They ran, easily and lightly, to the meeting place, with a car and an agent that would take them out of this open countryside.

 

When it was nightfall and Inga hadn’t gotten home yet, Valentin was worried. When it was midnight and she was still gone, he was frantic. Maybe she’d stayed the night at a friend’s because she was exhausted. No. Inga wouldn’t let them worry. Maybe she’d gotten hurt. He paced the floors in the kitchen, staring out the windows in agony. “Inga,” he said, again and again, without realizing he was doing so. 

He felt a cold hand slip into his. “Where’s mama?”

“I don’t know, Yana, love. I don’t know.”

“Are you scared?”

“Yes.” He swallowed. “Yes.” He picked up Yana and held her tightly to him, buried his face in her tangled hair. They stayed their watch until the sun began to rise. 

“Shall we go find her, papa?” 

“Yes.” He ran about the kitchen, filling a flask with water and a bag with bread just in case. With Yana close behind, he saddled and mounted the grey gelding. “Let the cows go unmilked, let the eggs go unfound,” he said aloud. “I search for my wife, who is worth more than all the animals in the world.”

They set off down the road, staying at a nice, easy jog. It was silent except for the rhythmic squeak of saddle leather and rapid breathing. Yana’s heart was filled with dread. It was her fault, she knew. Her fault that her mother was gone. They should have given her away to the people when they asked for her. Of course she would have been very sad and missed her parents, but everyone important and good to her would have been safe. 

Her father seemed to sense her worries. “It's going to be okay, little kitten. It's going to be okay.”

Soon, they came upon a large swarm of people, talking and worrying. They were gathered around something on the road. “Someone ought to go tell Valentin about it,” someone was saying loudly. Valentin whoah-ed his horse to a stop. Dread ripped through his body.

A gangly boy tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Father. Look. Look who’s here.”

The people turned and looked, glancing reluctantly at each other. Finally, a woman came forward and stroked the grey gelding’s neck, avoiding Valentin’s insistent gaze. “Valentin,” she said finally. “Let me take your daughter away from here.”

Valentin wrapped his arms around Yana. “No. No. She stays with me. No more separation.”

“But the sight, Val. It’s not a good thing for a little baby girl to see.”

“Yana’s done a great deal of growing up in the past few days, Nadia.”

“Does it have anything to with an...an urgent package?”

“Yes.” Valentin averted his eyes, blinking away tears. 

“Papa,” Yana said, so quietly it would have been missed in any other silence, “let Nadia-the-Postmistress take me.”

Nadia lifted her arms to take the solemn little girl to a group of women and children who were apart from the main gathering, all talking nervously together. Yana stood stiffly in the center of them as they fussed over her. 

Meanwhile, Valentin dismounted and, heart hammering in his chest, stumbled towards the sheet covered lump that lay on the ground. Hands touched his back, as if to reassure him. He shrunk away from them. “How...how bad is she?” he ground out. 

“Ah, Valentin. She's gone. Was gone when we found her this morning.” 

Through the ringing in his ears, the voice sounded a bit like his friend Alexi.

“God. Oh. God.” Valentin swayed, his heart pounding through his body. He felt sick and dizzy. “How...how did she...why is she...gone?”

“Snakebite. She tried to get the poison out, it looks like. But maybe she cut a bit too deep, or maybe the poison was too strong and fast. But look, Valentin. She died smiling. She died thinking of beautiful things.”

Valentin sat down hard. Someone reached over him and pulled the sheet down just enough for him to see her face. She was radiant and peaceful and then he thought that maybe she was just sleeping and this was an insane, elaborate prank but when he reached out a quivering finger and touched her cheek, he felt the iciness of her pale skin and he knew that it was real, that she was dead, and there was nothing he could do. He hadn't even been able to be there for her in her last, hellish minutes. 

“Inga,” he said, covering her face back up. He felt cold all-of-the-sudden. He sat there for a while, frozen and empty-eyed. They let him sit, respected his vigil. But soon, it was noon, and they needed to take care of the body. 

So Alexi touched his shoulder and whispered to him, “Remember that you have a child still. And see? She is the image of your wife, and she holds her spirit, too.”

So Valentin stood up, eyes dim, and staggered away from the crowd and called his daughter to him and held her, and finally, he sobbed. Yana did not cry. She bit her tongue and clenched her teeth and stared straight ahead and felt her throat get hot and her stomach get cold, and she embraced the anger that she felt against whoever did this, and she embraced the anger that she nurtured against herself. She bit her tongue so hard that it bled, and she rejoiced in the pain and the salty, metal taste in her mouth. It is payment, she thought, for the wrongs I have done. 

When Valentin stopped weeping, Yana knew she must say something. “We're going to be okay, papa,” she said, calm and assured and confident. She did not allow the emotion, the fury, the pain to show in her voice.

“Yes,” said Valentin, clinging on to the idea as a drowning man clings onto a bit of driftwood. “We're going to be okay. Okay.” He looked around, helpless and bewildered.  
“Let's go home, papa.”

“Home,” Valentin sighed. Home. Home wouldn't be home without Inga. “Let's go.” He tried to remount the gelding, but he couldn't even swing his leg up, for his body was shaking with exhaustion and grief and hopelessness. 

“Valentin,” said Nadia, “ stay with us tonight. You oughtn’t to be alone, out there in the countryside.”

“The animals...”

“I'll send my boys out to care for them. Don't worry. We've got you. That's what friends are for.”

“I thank you,” said Valentin. “Come, Yana.”

Yana came. Her face was stone. Her eyes were cold. As they were leaving, she looked behind her to catch try to catch glimpse of her mother’s body. While some men were loading it onto a just-arrived cart, the sheet slipped off. They hurried to cover her back up, but Yana saw clearly the blackened flesh, the gaping wound. She turned her head away in horror. “Papa,” she whispered, “did you see what they did to her?”

“Who?”

“The...the snake. Did you see what it did to her leg?”

“I didn’t look at her leg, Yana, love. But did you see her face? The peace there?”

Yana didn’t answer. She was silent all the way to the post-mistress's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummm....this is my first time writing a death scene. i think it's a little choppy, but i'm trying not to over-edit. my friend asked me why inga didn't struggle more when she was killed. i have two reasons: a) it's russia in the 1920's. i don't think that women would have been told that they could fight off men in case of rape or abduction or etc. and b) the three responses to danger are flight, fight, and freeze. inga is a freezer (i'm a freezer too dogonnit). valentin is a fighter. natasha is a fighter as well. it's just how it happened. for future references, bruce is probably a flighter.


	4. picking up the pieces...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short interlude between the last chapter and the one to come because it just made sense that way because i didn't want to force a bunch of stuff that doesn't go into one chapter for the sake of congruent lengths.

Everything felt wrong for a while. It just felt _wrong _. And empty. Yana took to staying in her room away from everyone. She would just sit on her bed, far too quietly for a five year old little girl, and stare at the slightly chipped paint on the walls. Valentin couldn't do anything about it. He was too lost himself. He mostly just walked around like an old man, mouth pinched, legs shuffling whenever he had to go anywhere. Neither of them knew how to continue with life after they had been torn away from the person that kept them going.__

The neighbors closest to them brought baskets of food and toys and sympathy and offered to patch clothes and take Yana in during daytimes, and their care only added to the dank dream-haze. Eventually, they, too, faded out of their lives. Nothing seemed real or worthy of attention. They did what needed to be done and that was all. 

And then one day, Yana woke up to find that the darkness that had been clouding her vision wasn’t quite so oppressive. That’s strange, she thought. I feel like doing something today. She could see things and hear things and smell things that she had been deadened to for weeks. Hopping out of bed, she ran down the stairs. I’m resilient, she thought. I’ve bounced back. I’ll be okay now.

“Papa?” she called. “Where are you?”

He was warming up a pan of soup over the stove, back slumped. 

“Papa, must we have soup?”

“It...uh...it’s what we had."

“There are plenty of eggs. Eggs sound good, don’t they?”

“I suppose.”  
They ate fried eggs for breakfast, Yana nibbling daintily on a massive plateful while Valentin stuffed giant bites into his mouth, disregarding the bits of shell that would persist on slipping into the pan, no matter how careful Yana was when cracking them. 

They were finished eating when Yana got the idea to ask questions and maybe that would wake things up. “Papa?”

“Yes, little Yana.”

“Why are we stuck like this?”

“What do you mean, Yana?”

Yana got up from the table and twined her little arms about Valentin and nuzzled her face into his jacket. “Everything has been very still since Mama died. And your eyes are old and your mouth is frowning and your chin is all scratchy from forgetting to shave. And everything seems...wrong.”

Valentin’s heart gave a frantic thud. “Little Yana.” Tears began to drop from his eyes even though he hadn’t let them. Yana just let him cry, let him hold her closely and feel the pain and lostness, and she didn’t run away from it. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ve let you down. I don’t know how to go on. She was the reason for living. And now we have nothing.”

“We have each other, Papa.”

“Yes. We have each other.”

“Will you wake up then? For me?”

“For you. You remind me of her so much, you know.”

“I know. Perhaps God did that on purpose, so that when this happened to us, you would be a little more okay.”

“Perhaps.” Valentin chuckled. “Perhaps He did.”

 

And they had to work hard to awaken. Some days, neither of them could find any reason to keep going. Yet other days, the happiness that they found in each other seemed to be all they needed to live on. They smiled and laughed sometimes, and were sober and cried sometimes. Valentin invited friends over to the house and talked with them about loss and raising up children alone and how to recover after death. 

Yana started going to school. The teachers let her sit in on the big kid’s classes so she could learn more. But she soon grew bored there too, so she started helping out the kids that were struggling. One day, she witnessed a fight and remembered that she knew movements to destroy too, and so she began practicing them again, in secret, late at night. One day, she challenged a bigger boy who was bullying her friend to a fight and beat him quickly and thoroughly with a high kick to the head. Gossip about her and her family started up because _of course _people wondered about the death and the package and now her fighting skills that came out of nowhere. But the talk died down because they found other things to worry about. And then it was summertime and school stopped and Yana ran around barefoot and grew brown and strong and ran races with her dogs and was happiest when she was by herself, walking in the woods or standing knee-deep in icy creek water or lying in the hayfield with eyes closed, soaking in the sun.__

They were happy again. It was a good time to be alive, and if the happiness was different than the lazy perfection that had been overwhelmingly present before, it was still happiness, hard-earned and beautiful. 

And then one day,


	5. ....and dropping them again

one day, everything changed. 

 

It started out like a normal day. The harvest was just starting, and Valentin had the team out, mowing down wheat from sunrise to sunset. Yana rode with him, chattering and singing and making him glad. The barns were ever-so-slowly filling up with abundance. 

That night, he was working late, stacking up straw, pushing into the deepest cracks to make sure he had enough for winter and to keep the place all the warmer. Yana had begged to stay up with him, and he had let her, but now it was nearing eleven o’clock and she needed to sleep. He picked her up and put her on his shoulders and she clung there, laughing and protesting. He tucked her in and sang to her and kissed her forehead. She sighed and turned over onto her belly, wrapping the blankets about her to make a cave. He kept on singing as went to the barn, and then he wasn’t singing anymore because the barn had a golden glow to it, and heat was emanating from it. He shook his head. There was no way. 

He smelled smoke and he listened and heard the sounds of animal’s terror and how had he made that foolish of a mistake? And all the new straw was probably lighting up and so he ran and dipped his handkerchief in the trough by the door and wrapped it about his face and charged into the beginning of the inferno and began to lead his animals out because these were the weak, sick, fragile animals that he had placed in the barn to keep safe and now their lives were in peril and it was his fault. 

Yana smelled the smoke and shot up out of bed and checked the oven to make sure that nothing was there. There was an orangey haze that lit up the windows. That’s strange, she thought. She opened the door and looked to the barn and saw little flames licking at it, trying to eat it up. Slipping into her heavy farm boots, she ran down the path to the barn. Where are you Papa? she thought. Just then, he came bursting out of the flaming doorway, leading a brown, protesting cow. The animals. Papa was saving the animals. Okay, she thought. If Papa can save the animals then so can I. As soon as he went back in, she went to the trough and splashed water all over herself and walked in, a little afraid. She went over to the stalls and began unlocking all the doors so they could get out easier, but all of them stayed put, calling out with animal language in fear. She called to them, clucking to them so they followed her out of the barn. She met with Valentin as she dashed back in. His face was dark and sweaty and frantic. 

“Yana! What are you doing here?”

“Saving the animals, Papa. See? If you unlock the stalls then they’ll follow you.”

Without a word, he picked her up and charged out of the doors and threw her down onto the grass. “Stay there, Yana. Stay and be safe.” He turned to go back, hesitating at the wall of fire that greeted him.

“Papa! I love you more than anything,” Yana called frantically. 

He looked back with eyes full of fear and indecision. A horse whinnied in pain and he went in again. “I love you too, Yana. I love you. I love you.” He kept on saying it as he jumped over the small flames that licked at his feet, as he tore open the nearly melted metal latches, as he pushed and pulled on resistant animals. As the flames caught onto his coat and wouldn’t let go. 

Yana counted the animals that came streaming through the doors, leaving for safety like a Noah’s Ark reversed. But Valentin did not come forth. “Papa? Papa. I need you. Come back to me.” She started to cry, tears leaking out, overflowing plentifully. Still sobbing, she lead the animals to their various pens so they wouldn’t escape. She waited and waited for her father until the building began to collapse in on itself. People were beginning to gather around the area, having seen the flames and come to investigate. Amongst them were a number of government officials.

“It worked,” said a tall, bearded man to another in a low, careful tone. 

“Of course it did,” the other snorted. “They never fail.”

“I suppose not.” 

Yana didn’t notice them. How could she? Her _father _was lost in those flames. The sobs turned frantic, uncontrolled. She felt dizzy and sick. It was too much. Too much. She would save him, save him the way she saved the animals. He hadn’t come out because he hadn’t heard her. That was why. If he had heard her calling, heard her voice, he would be here, dumping buckets of water and simultaneously telling her that it was going to be alright. So she would go in, go and retrieve their happiness and safety. Weeping, she sprinted towards the entrance. The heat was overwhelming. She felt as if her skin was being torn from her body, but she still stepped through the door-frame. Everything slowed down. She could see each individual flame form take its shape, all brilliant colors and exotic movements and she could hear a million little crackles and she could hear her mother’s voice and her mother’s arms and her father came to join them. Let’s go, she thought. Let’s leave this place. Let’s all go be happy together.__

___Distantly, she felt seared to her bones, but it was a welcome pain if it meant she could be with her family again. And then she felt hands pulling her back, out of the burning barn, out of the arms of her parents, and she fought and struggled and kicked out, and the cold night air brought relief and the worst pain of all to her body. She couldn’t open her eyes and see who had done this cruel thing to her, and she couldn’t ask about it either. Her mouth ached and her tongue felt huge and lifeless. She ceased movement because she felt tired and the pain was getting worse and worse and worse._ _ _

___“It’s okay,” whispered a voice in her ear. “I’ve got you, little Yana. Little spider.” The voice made her stomach feel sick. It was cold and ominous and held some other quality that she couldn't understand. “Someone bring me cold water,” he called. “We’ve got to ease her pain. Does anyone have any ice saved up?”_ _ _

___“I do. I was saving it for iced cream but I’ll do anything to help a little girl burnt, and especially Valentin’s little one,” said a stout man in a ragged coat.  
“I’ve got ointment and gauze at home,” said kind-faced woman._ _ _

___“Get them. Please,” said the man. He had laid her out on the ground now, far away, where the grass was chilly and unaffected by the burning._ _ _

___“Should we try to put the fire out?”_ _ _

___“It’s close to burning itself out. No need to waste water. We can drench the ashes when the timbers disintegrate. Wet a ring around in though, just in case.”_ _ _

___“Where’s Valentin?”_ _ _

___“I reckon she went in to fetch him. I reckon he’s died in those flames, trying to save something.”_ _ _

___The speculative voices faded away. The man was looking at every angle of her body, touching her as lightly and as little as possible. “Yana. Can you hear me?”_ _ _

___Yana nodded her head. The movement was slight, but the man must have seen her. “Good. Stay awake. Stay with me. We have need of you. You are needed.”_ _ _

___People were trickling back, first someone with buckets of water and then the man with blocks of ice and then the woman with bandages. They emptied the trough and filled it with clean water and placed the ice in it and held her there until she began to shake from the cold. Then they cared for as best as they could._ _ _

___“She needs to go to a hospital,” said the man finally. “There’s no way she’ll even live with these burns without proper care.”_ _ _

___“Ain’t none of us can take care of her,” said a someone. “We’ve all got families and farms and not a lot of money, and now Valentin’s...gone.”_ _ _

___“I understand. Anyways, she’s a ward of the state now. She belongs to us. I’ll be taking care of her for a while, and then we’ll see what happens. Would one of you lovely ladies pack up some things from her house? We’ll return later to close things up, but I want her to be comfortable and safe while she’s away. It’s going to be a long, hard road for her from now on with all these burns and no family left.”_ _ _

___A few minutes later, a small carpet bag was packed with clothes and various books and a doll and photographs of the family all together. The soldier had somehow gotten a car to come and was sat in the back seat with Yana while someone else drove them away. With the roar of a powerful, engine, they were off, speeding down the dirt road towards safety and anonymity._ _ _

___“Say goodbye, little Yana,” he said to her, not bothering to lower his voice this time. “Say goodbye to your life.”_ _ _

___Fear clenched at Yana. But she couldn’t do anything for the flames that still licked at her body, burning her brain and making her weak. So she set her teeth and her mind against the tears and did what she did best._ _ _

___ _

___She endured._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate myself now. i'm not a writer, i'm a murderer. but seriously.


	6. rebirth

The hospital was cold and white. That’s mostly what she remembered. Her skin was on-fire-on-fire-on- _fire _for a long time until she couldn’t feel it anymore. She couldn’t feel anything at all really. She slept a lot. Then she didn’t have to think about anything or feel any of the pain. And she could be with Mama and Papa and that was nice because they had decided to go away and she couldn’t see them anymore when she was awake. Sometimes she dreamt about the grey people that came to her house and about hurting her pet and that made her sad and scared, so sometimes, it was better to just be awake and look up at the white, bumpy ceiling.__

Sometimes there was a man there who read to her out of storybooks or talked to her of a program for spiders who would be trained to be fighters and that was confusing. She didn’t like his voice. It made her skin crawl and her head hurt. But she couldn’t seem to speak, so she didn’t tell anyone. There was a doctor. His hands were always cold and he never said anything to her. She wished he would. His voice sounded kindest. All the nurses always sounded impatient or tired or bored but the doctor sounded like he cared about her. And that was nice. 

One day, she found that it didn’t really hurt anymore. She was afraid to move, but she did anyways because she wanted to and what is the point of being afraid of pain when it’s going to come anyways? So she sat up and stretched. Her skin felt funny. It felt different. She got out of bed and stood on her feet, wiggling her toes and flexing her muscles. She walked slowly about the room, testing her strength. There were tools and strange machines, and it smelled queer. She found a restroom and walked inside. She looked normal and pink and healthy. Her hair was all shaved off. She ran her hand over the stubble, noting its tickle. There was nothing else to do or see, so she went back to her bed and sat there. The man would come soon, she figured, and then maybe she could find out what she was doing here. 

Sure enough, after a few minutes, the door swung opened. A tall, heavy-jawed, mustachioed man was the first thing that she saw, and after him, a short, plump man in a white coat. 

“Ah! The little tsarina has awoken!” said the tall man cheerily. Yana knew his voice. It was the man who was always there, always talking to her. She smiled at him, a little shyly. “Oh, of course. Introductions. How rude of me. My name is Ivan. Ivan Petrovich.” 

She nodded, eyes downcast. 

“Can you speak?” Ivan asked anxiously. He turned to the doctor. “Can she speak? We didn't consider that, rehabilitating her mouth.” He grasped her face in his big hands. “Can you say anything? Make any sound?” 

Yana shrugged. She didn't care to open her mouth here. 

“Will you try for me?” 

Yana glanced past him and focused on memorizing the order of the medical equipment on the shelf across from her. 

“Yana, I need to tell you some things. Alright?”

She ignored him. He sighed. 

“You've been in this hospital for three months now. You were very ill. We-or rather this magnificent doctor here-did a great deal of reconstructive surgery on you because of your extensively severe burns. I don't know how much you remember, but there was a fire in your barn. You went in just as it was beginning to collapse, I believe in search of your father. He perished in those flames, but I rescued you. You are a ward of the state now, and I shall be Your New Papa.” 

Yana turned to stare at him, eyes wide in horror, before she resumed her emotionless mask. 

"I know. It's very hard, losing both of your parents in such a short amount of time. But don't worry. You shall have a productive, useful life as a citizen and daughter of mine.” 

She couldn't think of anything worse than being his daughter or a “productive” life under his regime. Mama, why did you leave me? she thought. Papa, why did you give me up to this? I am scared and lonely. And we were just trying to make a happy life for ourselves. 

Ivan crouched down to be on eye level with Yana, examining her closely. “Well then,” he sighed finally, “I'll leave you alone to get used to things.” 

They traveled a lot. Once Yana was pronounced completely well, they left the little town that they had been staying at and went all over the country in his private car with his personal chauffeur. One day, they even stopped at Yana’s old house. There was a little, bearded farmer living there who raised pigs. He welcomed them obsequiously and lead them on a tour of what he’d done with the farm and the new barn he’d built over the site of the old, burnt one. Yana’s room had been kept intact, and she looked at it one last time, missing _everything _with all of her being. But she turned a stony face to Ivan and refused to take anything with her.__

___And she never talked. She wouldn’t speak to Ivan or to adults or children or any person that she came into contact with. She didn’t even speak when she was alone to sift through thoughts or keep herself company. It was as if she had forgotten how, as if the flames had burned away everything bright and beautiful about her. She saw things and understood things and was brilliant, but words were lost to her. Ivan took to calling her “little silent one” or “cut-tongue” (inbetween hailing her as his little princess) or other such wittily demeaning labels, and he made excuses to his friends that in the fire, her vocal chords had probably been damaged or something like that._ _ _

___Sleeping was hard too. Ever since the one night when she had slept-walked to the balcony of their hotel room and nearly walked off of the edge, he’d taken to handcuffing her to the bed frame. Her wrist was sore and it was uncomfortable and sometimes she wished she’d been able to fall to the ground and never wake up again because everything was so askew, so _wrong _.___ _ _

_____“It takes time,” Ivan would say to her earnestly, over and over again. “It takes time to heal. But you’ll get better. We’ll fix you.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Why, she wanted to ask. Why, her eyes implored. One day, he gave her the answer._ _ _ _ _

_____“ ‘Why? Why get better?’ You may be asking yourself these things, no?” She nodded reluctantly. “So we can break you again.” His teeth showed in a horrible smile. He chuckled delightedly to himself, then hurried to reassure her. “Of course not, dear. Papa was joking. Frightened you, didn’t I? It's a scary world out there, that's why.” She just walked away, left the room and ignored his confusing cruelty, and smiled triumphantly and grimly because finally, her first response had been to embrace the anger burning bright in her belly instead of finding tears stinging unwanted in her eyes._ _ _ _ _

_____ _ _ _

_____One day, Ivan went out for a few hours. When he came back to the little cottage that was their current home, he bore with him a giant stack of books and various packages. He made her open them, chattering excitedly about training and tutors and a real education all the while. Yana stared dumbly at the various pieces of fighting gear and articles of clothing and floor pads and other strange things. “Look!” he shouted. “Look at these books I got you! They’re technical, but you’ll be able to understand. I know the caliber of things you were reading before. And don’t worry if you don’t get it all. I’ve got coaches lined up, ready to start teaching you at any moment. It’ll be fun. Something for you to focus. Don’t you think so?”_ _ _ _ _

_____She nodded, staring out the window._ _ _ _ _

_____“Come on then. Help me organize these. We’ll stay here in this house for a while. I’ve bought it. It can be your training gym. This is splendid fun.”_ _ _ _ _

_____So she began to train. She didn’t know why and she didn’t care, really. It was just something to do. She thought that maybe she had been beginning to go crazy, stuck alone in her head with no way to say anything to anyone but the ghost family in her mind. But now, her body spoke for her. She was lithe and flexible and strong and persistent, and her body shaped like clay under masterful hands, and she was liquid mercury, beautiful and quick and secretly dangerous. She looked forward to pushing her body past the limits, creating impossible shapes with limbs at odd angles or continuing a workout long after her limit had been reached or ignoring a pulled muscle until it burned her with constant pain. The physicality provided for her a certain kind of adrenaline, a strong, mean, smirking, dominant one, where she felt powerful and became a conqueror and every punch was aimed in the most sensitive places of the people that she hated. She lived for the movements, and she became them. Her skill became her identity and her escape at the same time. She was cold and detached, and her head was always lifted high and her eyes were always narrowed and her muscles were always warmed up and she was always impenetrable._ _ _ _ _

_____Gradually, she forgot that she had ever been a child. Gradually, she forgot that she was Yana. Gradually, she forgot that she had been happy._ _ _ _ _

_____And so it happened, when Ivan brought up to her the idea of a training school for all kinds of orphan girls, she opened her mouth and found it filled with a word and the word was “yes.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Yes,” she said. “That sounds like it would be a good thing.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Well then,” he said, “I’m glad that you approve because there is such a thing, a school for the best of the little girls. We’ve been experimenting for a long time now. And now, you, the best of the best, are ready to join. Our program is about to be made complete.”_ _ _ _ _

_____She almost smiled. Almost._ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i've been really struggling here bc i've never read the comics (pretty new to the mcu even) and i'm trying respect the canon bc i'm weird like that and i really have no idea who ivan is, like personality wise. i think i accidentally created this slightly insane, bi-polar, kinda sinister dude but i have no idea. like is he a creep? is he sincere? is he as confused as me? marvel, please. decide on characters before they're written not after. that's all i ask. consistency. you weren't thinking of fic writers and their needs when you started this whole fandom, were you? anyways i digress. i have no idea what i'm doing with ivan and i'm scared to write anything much with him so...he'll be mentioned but not written. he's not a magnet character for me anyways.


	7. new girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a bit short. i wanted to try writing from a new 3rd person omniscient deep pov just to set some stuff up and keep the creative juices flowing bc unmotivated. it was actually harder and easier than i thought it would be.
> 
> **minor edits to fix something with the plot

Her name was Alianovna and she had been there for far too long. She had seen countless girls die or disappear or graduate, and everyone in her original group was dead because they weren’t good enough, and she was the only left. Why? She must have been better. She knew that she was the best. Then why wouldn’t they let her out on missions? Why wouldn’t they let her graduate? The girls all left her alone; anyone that had tried to bother her soon learned a quick, bitter lesson. They didn’t even make her take classes anymore. She just spent all day in the training room, beating up punching bags and flipping on the mats. She had forgotten everything about herself: the year that she was born, her last name, her parents’ faces. She knew she was older than twelve, but that was as old as she ever looked. Everything was dim in her mind. Every memory quickly faded to have an unreal quality. So she lived and lived and lived, but it wasn’t really _living _.__

__One day, the rumor spread over the school that Ivan was coming back, and he had The One, the one who was to carry the name Black Widow and make it holy, with him. Ivan was coming, Ivan was coming, Ivan was coming. Some of the girls adored him, some hated him. Alianovna didn’t care. Whatever happened, her life would be the same. And Ivan, Ivan of the mysterious abilities and groping fingers and sneering lips and obsession over certain girls for short amounts of time, would not change it. Ivan._ _

__One time, he had tried to detain her, tried to touch her. He must have forgotten who had trained her to fight and how long she had been learning because he seemed surprised when he ended up on the ground with his arms twisted behind his back. He had gotten up, sweating heavily, and tried to slap her. She broke his arm at the elbow. It was as simple as that. He healed quick anyways, so she didn’t get in trouble._ _

__After that, he left her alone, pretended not to see her when he passed her in the halls, refused to send her anywhere to do anything. She could be by herself, the way she liked it best._ _

__And so she didn’t really care that Ivan was coming. Except that They told her that she was getting a bunkmate and that the bunkmate was probably Ivan’s new pet project and that she couldn’t hurt her--straightaway at least._ _

__Everyone made a big deal about his coming and cleaned all of the rooms and fed everyone extra food and went over all the rules and all the exercises and forms and routines over and over and over again. Somehow, Alianovna managed to hide in the dorms when he finally did show up, and she waited there until the celebratory dinner and then went to the gym after she was full and sleepy. She wanted to try to figure out a new takedown. And then it got really late so she decided just to sleep in the gym (she’d done it before) and so she only _really _met the new girl at breakfast time in the cafeteria when they were seated next to each other because everyone was always seated according to bunking. And now they were on an equal playing field. There were no grown-ups to kiss up to. There was no one for the girl to be but herself.___ _

____She was surprised by the new girl. She wasn’t sure _what _she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this petite, hard-eyed, stone-faced, muscled child. She felt a flash of something in her stomach or maybe it was her heart, but she pushed the thought away impatiently. She wasn’t about to let Ivan’s pet find a soft spot in her. She was impenetrable.___ _ _ _

______And that obviously seemed okay with the girl because she stared straight ahead and didn’t try to talk with anyone and focused on whatever she was doing and looked as if she was a machine instead of a seven-year-old girl. She had already been trained well, Ali soon saw. Of course she’d been. Anything of Ivan’s would be. Technically, she was perfect. But she lacked experience in fights and flexibility when the situation changed. And she needed to learn those things if she was ever to become great. Ali didn’t care. Of course not. But she could help wondering about her when night after night, below her, the girl fell asleep very late and cried out in her sleep and yet never showed a sign of fear or normality or humanity anytime else. And she never cried. Many of the other girls cried at nights, when the thinking and the remembering set in. But she never did. So Ali found herself thinking about the girl more and more as time passed. But wondering was different than caring anyways._ _ _ _ _ _

______One day, they were wrestling on the mats, the girl doing quite well for being so small and new. When they got up (it really had been a decently close fight, one of the closest Ali had had in a long time), she reached her hand out to the girl. “You did very well,” she mumbled._ _ _ _ _ _

______The girl looked surprised and unhappy. “You beat me so easily,” she said._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It wasn’t as easy as it looked. You’re creative. Or at least, you’re getting there.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The girl nodded, looking a little pleased._ _ _ _ _ _

______Ali felt as if she should say more, so, awkwardly clearing her throat, said the first thing that came to her mind. “Where’s Ivan?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The girl shrugged. “Don’t care. I’m not questioning anything. I’m just thankful for the time I get without him.” And indeed, she looked more free and less like a machine than she had been since she arrived. Not that Ali was paying attention. It was just so noticeable._ _ _ _ _ _

______“He ever try anything with you? I can show you a really effective move that’ll keep you safe from his nasty fingers...”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“He’s never tried nothing. He says he’s my papa. I don’t think so. I think I used to have another papa, a good one, and a kind mama with red hair. I think. But it’s hard to remember.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I know. I don’t remember anything at all either.” She stopped, suddenly aware that she had been talking quite freely to this child that she didn’t care about. “Anyways, I uh...” Stiffly, she turned away and left the room, heart beating fast, angry and scared because she needed to be _impenetrable _to survive and all of the sudden, she wasn’t so much and how was she supposed to survive if she wasn’t strong?___ _ _ _ _ _

________She tried to shake off the feeling that the little girl had somehow crawled into her heart. She tried. But it got harder and harder. They slipped so easily into camaraderie, into understanding each other. They started spending a lot of time together, working on moves and practicing dancing routines and bouncing combat ideas off of each other._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Slowly, Ali began to accept that this was someone who she could trust. She didn’t like it, didn’t like the open, uncomfortable, clean feeling that she figured out was called “vulnerability.” But it happened. It just did. So she made the most out of it. She and the girl always were together, talking or just being in the other’s presence.  
And for the first time in a long time, Ali was content. She could have almost said that she was happy. She should have known that it wouldn’t last. Nothing ever lasts. Especially the good things._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ali is obviously going to have a huge impact on nat because HEADCANON she assumes her name as her middle name. my headcanons are really random and don't have a lot of importance to the story but whatever. i found it easy to think and feel like ali, but it is too hard for me to write in her mind and keep the story going because she's a flat rather than dynamic character. yeah. so back to yana i go.


	8. this is life now, i guess//magical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i haven't posted in a while. life is super busy and i'm responsible for my siblings a lot of the days while trying to do school and sleep a decent amount of hours. and nothing is more important than my family and making sure we survive. plus the past couple of days have been awful (read very first flat tire, full blown panic attack, etc.).
> 
> but here is a nice long-ish chapter in recompense.

“Your name is no longer Yana Vasilek,” was the first thing that the woman said to her. Yana noted that she was tall and intimidating, and that her hair was pulled back painfully tight, and she wore a long, dull skirt that didn’t make her look nice at all. 

“What do you mean?” Yana said.

“New name. New place.”

“That sounds like a confusing way to live.”

“It’s a good way not to die.” The woman’s tall eyes dared her to argue. 

“What’s my name then?” she said instead. 

“Pick one.”

“What?”

“Here’s a bag. Pull a name out.”

“Okay.” She reached in and picked a slip of paper, not bothering to worry about her choice. 

“What does it say?”

“Natalya.”

“Na-tal-ya.” The woman bit out the three syllables, making the name sound sparse and harsh. “Now pick here. Last names. What does it say?”

“Romanova.”

The woman smirked. “Maybe now you are of royal blood. Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

Natalya stared up at her, brows wrinkled. 

The woman patted her shoulder. “When you introduce yourself to the others, remember your new name. You are not who you used to be anymore. You are a child of the Red Room now, and the Red Room is completely original when it creates its own. Go on. Here is a map. Your dorm and bed are marked.”

Ivan popped his head through the doorway. “Ah, many thanks, Madame. I shall escort her myself. What is your new name.”

“Natalya Romanova. Natalya.”

“Natalya. Wonderful! I like it. I quite like it.” He put an arm around her shoulder and waved to the woman. “Good day, madam. I’ll see you later.”

 

Small and dark, the dormitory held six metal framed bunks, a worn-out dresser, a table with a pitcher and bowl, and not much else. Eleven girls must sleep there, Yana-no-  
Natalya thought. And now I am the twelfth. I wonder what others are like.

“There are many more girls than the ones that live in this room,” Ivan was saying, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “We divide them up into different rooms so there’s not as much animosity. We don’t want our girls to deal with unnecessary stress. There’s not any specific qualifications for each dorm, just our suppositions of who will get along with who.” He placed her suitcase onto the top bunk and motioned to it. “There’s all your training gear and some extra clothes and books and such things. You’ll get fitted for a uniform such as the other girls wear, and it’ll be ready in a few days. You can put your things in the dresser. No one will disturb them much. I’ll be in to fetch you in a while for the celebratory dinner. Alright?”

She nodded briefly, then turned to her bag. If Ivan had packed that book about grappling, then she could run through the techniques in her mind and see how they worked. Then maybe her trainer would come and visit and she could show him adjustments that she made for height and strength disadvantages. That was always invigorating. She like making things better. 

 

She counted around thirty girls and many more adults in the huge dining room. She studied the adults more carefully than the students because she figured that they were the ones she had to impress. They were the ones who would make or break her. The other girls, however, would come and go and were ignorable. Her success did not have anything to do with their approval. 

By the end of the meal, she thought she had worked out who they all were, more or less. The teachers and trainers and handlers had a balanced, muscled, coiled look about them. The agents looked suspicious and collected and far too observant to be casual. And the school’s managers were slightly more plump and usually jovial and drinking a little too much.

She turned to the girls and began to examine them, one by one. There were great big ones, women nearly, who looked bored or vastly superior and confident, and medium ones who were uncertain and awkward and focused and little ones who mostly just seemed tired and broken and _little _. And one girl who seemed completely emotionless. Natalya was sitting by her, but the coldness of her gaze made her turn away.__

__The girls either ignored her or stared at her. Natalya returned their stares boldly, raising her eyebrows and smirking slightly. She'd seen Ivan do that once when someone was trying to get information out of him (or so he'd said afterwards when he was explaining it and teaching her). Just stare them down. Think of all the things you could and would do to them. And suddenly, they won't feel so confident anymore. It worked well, she thought, putting the idea away in her mind for safekeeping._ _

__She didn't like how full she felt after the dinner. Her stomach felt like it was going to burst, and her eyelids begged to shut. But she forced them open and shook off the lethargy. The girls all seemed sleepy too. She watched as they all went up to woman--the one who had given her the new name--and bowed before her. I'm in this school now, she thought, and I'm a student here, no different than anyone else. So she went to her and bowed. An almost-smile quivered on the woman's thin lips._ _

__“Why do you bow...” she said, trailing off._ _

__“Natalya,” Natalya supplied quickly._ _

__“Natalya. Why do you bow?”_ _

__“They...the other students...they all did, and I am a student now. So I bow.”_ _

__“Do you know why they do so?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Because I am the mistress of the school. They bow and speak their thanks for this food and their education.”_ _

__“You are the mistress? Not Ivan?”_ _

__“Not Ivan.”_ _

__Now it was Natalya's turn to almost smile. “Well then,” she said thoughtfully, “I thank you, Madame, for this fine food that I partook of and for the education I begin to receive.” She bowed low, lowering her eyes and biting her lip._ _

__The woman nodded. “I predict you will do well here. Natalya.”_ _

__Natalya went away from her, sleepy and warm and on edge all at once. She saw a student and ran to her and tapped her shoulder. “Which way are the dormitories?”_ _

__“You the new girl?” asked the student, her voice breathy and sweet._ _

__“I am. Where are the dorms?”_ _

__“I'll take you if you want. Do you remember which number?”_ _

__“Three, I think.”_ _

__“You're in my room then. And your bunkmate’s Ali.”_ _

__“Who is Ali?”_ _

__“She was sitting next to you at dinner. Got that silvery blonde hair and those scary grey eyes. Seems like she's staring right into your soul.”_ _

__“Is she good?”_ _

__The girl laughed mirthlessly. “No one here is good. And then again, everyone is. Depends on what you mean by it.”_ _

__Natalya was silent._ _

__“Here we are,” said the girl. “I would get to sleep real quick. Tomorrow they'll be putting you in classes, testing how good you are.”_ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__“Yeah. I wish someone had done the same for me when I was new.”_ _

__“How do you mean?”_ _

__“Talked to me. Been kind. Kindness is hard to find in this school.”_ _

__“Of course it is,” Natalya said. “We're being trained to be killers. We're being trained to be cold.”_ _

__“Even killers are still a little bit human,” the girl breathed. Then she slipped out of the room and left Natalya alone in the fading light._ _

__She awoke when the other girls trailed in, laughing and chatting. Behind them was a man in dark clothes spinning a ring of keys on his finger. He waited until they had pulled on nightgowns and brushed their teeth and faces and hair and crawled into their bunks before he locked handcuffs to their wrists. There were a few complaints and sighs of resignation. The man came to her last._ _

__“Want to know why we do this, little girl?” he asked._ _

__“Sure.”_ _

__“After a while, no one wants to be here. A while ago, a few of you tried to escape. It would have been a simple matter to recapture them but for the fact that they were all highly trained in self-defense and getting out of tight places. We lost a couple of handlers. We lost a couple of girls. Handcuffing seems like the best option to me.”  
“It's uncomfortable.”_ _

__“Less uncomfortable than death.”_ _

__“Death isn't that bad.”_ _

__The man snorted. “And I suppose you know.”_ _

__She stared coldly at him. “I do. I do know. I have been to hell and back again.”_ _

__The man shivered. “They get scarier every year,” he muttered. “Wonder where they get them.”_ _

__He exited the room, leaving Natalya to figure out how to lay in a way that placed the least pressure on her wrist. She slept again and dreamt of a past life where she had been happy and merely a little girl._ _

__

__The next morning, a bell rang. Its sound was thin and unpleasant and overwhelmingly loud. Natalya jumped awake, then cried out when the cuff jerked on her raw skin._ _

__“You'll get used to it soon enough,” called the girl who had been kind the night before._ _

__This time, a woman came and unlocked them. As one, the girls all ran to the pitcher and waited patiently for their turn at the icy water. Then they went to the drawers and pulled on uniforms of grey slacks and white shirts._ _

__“Girl-that-was-kind,” Natalya called, “what do I do right now?”_ _

__“Pull on something that you can move around in,” said the girl. “They'll measure you soon. And wash your face. And push your hair back somehow. They want you to look nice. Or if not nice, presentable”_ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__“And my name is Klara.” Her voice sounded light, as if she was smiling._ _

__Natalya rushed to slip her clothes on, splashing water on her face and tying a ribbon to keep back her awkwardly growing hair. The others were all lined up, so she stood at the end of the line because she had been the last to get ready, but the others were pushing her to be right behind the cold girl. Ali her name was. So she stood behind her, trying to look anywhere but the girl’s tense, angry back._ _

__A bell sounded again, and the girls began to run. Natalya had expected them to walk, or maybe even march, but running? But she ran too. And they ran for a long time, catching up with another group and perhaps even going past their dormitory once. When they were winded and ravenous and beginning to think that they maybe needed to stop, the bell rang once more. Relieved, they slowed to a gentler pace went to the cafeteria. It was different than the grand hall they had eaten at the night before. It was small and dark, just like the dormitories. Rough wooden benches and tables filled one half of the room. The other half held a kitchen and stacks of cutlery._ _

__Natalya watched as they all grabbed a dish and silver and a cup and pointed to what they wanted as they passed the cooks. The cooks gave generous portions.  
“Be careful,” hissed a voice in her ear. She started. Klara’s bubbly laugh spilled over. “Pay attention, new girl. You startle easy. But you better be careful. You gotta eat what they put on your plate. Eat or bust. And the food’s real filling.”_ _

__Natalya nodded. And she went forward and ate._ _

__

__The rest of the day went like that. Somehow, Klara was always there, whispering warnings and instructions in her ear, guiding her through the proper thing to do. And for that day, Natalya thought that she had a friend._ _

__But when the bell rang the next morning, when she looked around to see Klara’s crooked grin, she found a stern-faced, frigid girl instead. She tried to smile, tried to strike up a conversation. But she was met with a cold, withering sneer._ _

__“Why are you acting like this?” she whispered as they lined up for their morning run._ _

__“Your day of grace is over,” Klara hissed back, her blue eyes alight with dominance, with sheer power, as if she were a sharp-fanged lioness bearing down on her prey at last. “You have no friends here. We are all for ourselves.”_ _

__Natalya turned away from her, anger filling her chest until she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. So, she said to herself, I have learnt my first lesson here. Do not trust anyone. She felt her heart harden a bit more; the parts that fire and pain and Ivan and training had thickened were now fossilized. Cemented. Petrified._ _

__

__She learned the tricks of survival. She learned how to manipulate. She learned how to get the best food and form false alliances. She learned languages and accents and higher maths and flirting (even though she was little. But everyone had to learn how. Better to start young. Best to make it second nature before they even understood the power that they had). And most of all, she learned fighting. Martial arts, weapons, gymnastics, dancing--they all fit with each other. It was the power of sheer physicality, of near perfection. And Natalya loved it. She loved fighting with her bare hands, shooting guns and stabbing with knives, flipping and leaping and twirling. She loved it all. Her body went places that her mind couldn’t. Her body was nearly free._ _

__Some of the girls complained that they weren’t supposed to be training to be athletes, that they wanted to learn how to be spies, not thugs. Those were the girls that got expelled or even executed usually. They weren’t willing to be pliable. Natalya didn't have that problem. She rearranged herself to fit the mold that they created._ _

__

__Very soon, it became apparent that she was progressing far too quickly to fight the girls her age or even older. They started making Ali come to fighting class and spar with her because there was no one else who dared. They were a good match for each other, both studying the other with a critical eye before going at it with all of their might. They held nothing back, and yet they kept their heads cool, thinking before acting. And Ali always won, but it started getting harder for her. Behind their backs, the other students began to call them the Cold Sisters._ _

__The teachers felt triumphant. At last. Here was one who was worthy, perfect in fact, to carry the name. Ivan had chosen well, they said to themselves. The other girls that he had managed to get before were _good _, but they all lacked something. Or maybe they had something that Natalya didn’t: humanity.___ _

____ _ _

____They were sparring again as usual, and it was _close _. Natalya could feel the strain in Ali’s muscles and something that felt like desperation. But it couldn’t be. Ali was the best.___ _ _ _

______And Ali won again. As usual. But she reached out her hand and took Natalya’s and spoke to her._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You did very well,” she said, her voice coming out rusty and broken._ _ _ _ _ _

______Inside, Natalya laughed, for how could she have done well? Doing well was perfection. She had done poorly. But Ali said that it was harder for her to beat her this time and that must mean that she was doing well. And then they talked a little longer before the older girl’s face changed from curious to confused to angry, and she left the room, defenses up again. Natalya wondered impartially what was the wrong, and then turned to Sofia, who was the next hardest to beat, and asked her to spar, and they fought hard until the buzzer rang, and Natalya pushed the encounter with Ali out of her mind because it didn’t really matter._ _ _ _ _ _

______But the next day, the older girl was was back, and they were fighting again, and it felt _right _somehow. Their movements felt safe and natural, deadly as they were. And then the instructor was halting them and telling them that it was a draw and that they needed to take a break before someone got seriously hurt. Slowly, they walked with each other to the showers and let the steaming water wash them clean. Natalya kept sneaking glances at Ali, trying to understand what had happened.___ _ _ _ _ _

________They dressed and returned to the training room, but the coach waved them off. “Go rest until dinner. Okay?” she said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________So they went to their beds and lay there, watching the way the room changed with the light. They couldn’t let themselves fall asleep. It was hard enough at night, but in the daytime? Better to just think._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Finally, Ali spoke._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“What happened today was...was...” She struggled to find the words. “It was almost magical. I think. I think that meant supernatural. Or wonderful.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I know,” said Natalya. “I could feel it in my heart. My body knew what to do even before my brain told it to move.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I have reached that state once before, when I was fighting a girl in my original group.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“And it felt...magical?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yes.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They lay in silence a little longer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Natalya.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Mhm.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I know we should not be friends or trust each other. It’s too dangerous. And they love to break us. They take away the things that we love the most.” She paused, searching for the words that would tell what lay nestled in her heart.  
“But?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“But maybe we could just be professional working partners so there are no emotions involved. Nothing to compromise us. But I want to work with you forever. I am just so tired of being asleep all the time. You know?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yes. I know.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’ve been here forever. And no one cares about me because somewhere along the way, their experiment went wrong. They got me too late and gave me the serum too early and trained me to well but didn’t brainwash me enough. And you are the first interesting thing that has happened to me in a long time.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“We can’t be friends. We can’t love each other.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I know. But we can be the best together that anyone has ever been. And if they get you right, maybe they’ll send us as a team.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Maybe.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Ali sighed. “I’ve thought about this for a while now. See, I keep to myself. But I’ve never fought with anyone like you. The others learn it so they can become well-rounded assassins. But you learn it because you love it and because you’re good at it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“And I’m only saying yes to being partners because you’re the best. You’re the only one I can learn from. And we are magical.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Sleep came a little easier to them that night. And it was the start of good things. But the good things did not last forever. Natalya should have known._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	9. friendships never last too long//death interrupts the best things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this has been so late in coming. i've been having a really hard time with some things and i've been feeling over-the-top severely depressed. something kinda traumatic and out of my control happened and it was like every creative piece that makes me _me _just fell out and I couldn't write anything at all. not even poems (and i mean i can always do poems. i can make a meaningful, decent poem out of anything and make it pretty quickly, too). but it came back finally and it was an amazing relief to have the words flow through me again. i'm still at a pretty bad place inside of myself, but i'm writing again. so that's good.__

It was Natalya’s tenth birthday. She knew it was so because they had called her in to get a new uniform. She was putting it on when she felt Ali’s presence behind her. 

“I am ten today,” she said quietly, not turning around. 

“Happy birthday?” 

“Thank you. I think.”

“Soon, you won't have birthdays anymore.”

Natalya laughed. “We don't have birthdays anymore anyways.”

“No. But when you are a little older, they will preserve your youth.”

“How?”

“Science, I guess.”

“Their science is magical, nearly.”

“Not our kind of magic.”

Ali shook her head. “No. It’s black magic.” She examined Natalya. “Your uniform looks good,” she said solemnly.

“No it doesn’t. It’s ugly and too loose.”

Ali nodded, her mouth pinched against a smile. “They all are,” she said. “They're supposed to be ugly so we never feel good about ourselves. They want us to always feel like shit." She paused, staring off into the distance. "You know, ever since you came, this place has been rather nice.”

“Nice? We work all day until we are sore, and the food is gross, and the teachers are strict.”

“Nice comparatively. Before you came, Ivan was here a lot. He made sure that we were treated harshly and kept cold and tired and nearly starved. To break us.”

“Oh. Why don't they do so anymore?”

“Who knows? Who cares?” She made a distasteful, obscene gesture, and Natalya laughed. “Come on, then,” she said gaily. “If we beg real hard, perhaps our awful cook will give us something extra. To celebrate”

“Perhaps,” Natalya said distractedly. She looked faintly worried, but Ali supposed it was something minor. After all, Natalya coming had changed the school, had made everything magical and almost nice and cleared away the fog. Some sort of protection must have been over her for the good fortune that she brought. 

But then, at dinner, the doors opened grandly, and Ivan paraded triumphantly in, plopping down next to Natalya. She smiled coldly at him, then nudged Ali, who glared hard at the man. He turned away and made paltry conversation with the cafeteria serving lady. Natalya said nothing but gripped her fork and knife furiously. Ali reached for her other hand and held it tightly under the table. It will be okay, her eyes said. Her mouth was firm and confident. It will be okay. It was a well-meant, impossible promise: the perfect kind to break. 

 

Ali crept into the dorm room, hoping that everyone was asleep. Last time, she'd come in too early, and there had been complaints and then warnings. Good. Everything was quiet. She slipped into her bunk and found a Natalya there. “What are you doing?” she breathed. “Get out.”

“I can't. I'm cuffed in.”

“But why? This is my bed.”

“I'm scared.”

“You've been scared before.”

Natalya turned to her, forehead wrinkled and lip chewed raw. “Everything is going to change.” 

“Because of Ivan?”

“And me. He wants the best training for me. Because I'm the best. But you're better than me.”

“But we all know that I'm not going anywhere,” Ali said gently. 

“We have to kill people in training now. Prisoners that have been sentenced to death. We are going to be taught to forget any value of human life that we had left. We are going to kill each other.”

“There have always been casualties in this kind of school.”

“They’ve all been accidents, more or less. These are _purposeful _deaths coming.”__

__“We'll make it through. Just you and me.” Ali wrapped her arms about Natalya, buried her nose in the girl's hair and kissed the top of her head._ _

__“Ali?”_ _

__“Yes, Talya?”_ _

__“I am afraid for you.”_ _

__Ali lay awake for the whole night, watching the ceiling’s shadows._ _

__

__Indeed, everything was different in the morning. The girls were placed in rankings every night based on their performance during the previous day. Friendships--and even alliances--were rare, for each student fought viciously for her place, and the ones that didn't ended up _gone _. Encouraged to end sparring bouts ruthlessly, injuries and even deaths skyrocketed, and human life came to mean little “in the grand scheme of things.”_ _ __

__The first day that the prisoners were brought in, greasy haired and skinny and pale and shaking with fear, Ali cried and Natalya glared at everyone._ _

__There were twenty-four men, one for each student. Tied and forced to stand still, they were not even allowed the courtesy of a blindfold. Instead, they had to watch as their young killers aimed a pistol and shot--_ _

__Each of the girls had to watch everyone else’s kill. Headshots were encouraged, but some of the more daring ones went for the chest. A few times, a student’s hands were shaking so terribly that their shots weren’t lethal, and then they had to go closer and closer still until they finally killed the prisoner, had to watch him closely as his dark blood spurted out onto the ground and pooled there, had to watch the terror in his eyes turn to agony and then nothing at all._ _

__A girl named Kristina licked her lips and grinned viciously when she had finished. She dipped her fingers in the blood and howled, showing her pointed teeth to the others. She’s crazy, they all whispered. A handler took her by the shoulders and dragged her out of the room. They didn’t see her anymore after that._ _

__Ali was the last person to shoot. She did it calmly and neatly, of course, but Natalya saw her hands clench and her eyes well up._ _

__It is okay, Natalya said with her eyes._ _

__“I never thought we would have to do actual killing,” Ali hissed as they ran to ballet._ _

__“We _are _assassins after all,” said Natalya, “and it won’t be as hard the second time.”___ _

____“I suppose you’re right.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Ballet,” Ivan trumpeted, “has not been your main focus thus far. Ah, yes, you are all quite proficient. You know the moves. You know the vocabulary. You know routines. But now, you will spend hours every day repeating a routine until it is so much apart of you that your feet move in rhythm as you sleep.”_ _ _ _

____Why? said everyone to herself._ _ _ _

____“Why? you may be asking yourselves. Well, you see, what you are training for in this school is... _proficiency _...in a kind of....deadly beauty. If you can act on what we teach without thinking, if you can perform every dee with your whole heart, you are more than proficient. You are unbreakable. If you achieve that level of excellence in one area, surely it will come more easily in another.”_ _ _ _ __

____And so they danced until their bodies screamed “no more” and pushed on past that point, and it was harder than anything they’d done in their lives. But they got through it.  
“They break us to make us unbreakable,” said the littlest student, a baby-faced seven-year-old called Katya. No one responded. They hadn’t the strength. _ _ _ _

____ _ _

____No one counted time at the school, but they could feel that it had been many long months since Ivan came again and brought death with him. The girls began to take on a hard-edged look; their cheeks were hollowed and there were dark, everlasting bags underneath their eyes._ _ _ _

____I am tired of living, said everyone to herself. There was no purpose to life but becoming the best, and even that turned hollow after a while. They began to lose count of the people that they had killed, and the people began evolving into faceless non-people and ceased to lay heavily on consciences, and the girls began to see themselves as tools under the control of handlers and other things greater than themselves. Natalya and Ali leaned heavily on each other, not talking so much as being physically _there _. They took to sleeping in the same bed, and since they were The One and the exception, no one bothered them. They were always by each other, always touching in some way, always a team._ _ _ _ __

____“We have to stop that relationship somehow,” said Ivan, “or we will not break her, and she will always be a rebel like that scary blonde one. We will not have her whole heart.”_ _ _ _

____“But the brainwashing?” they asked. “Isn’t it working? Isn’t it enough?”_ _ _ _

____“Of course it’s _working _. She believes everything about herself and what her place is in this world that we've told her subliminally. But she has a friend. She doesn’t think she’s alone. She thinks she has someone to trust.”___ _ _ _

______“What do we do?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Make them betray each other.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______“Talya.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Mm.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“If ever it came down to it, I’d give my life for you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Natalya squinted at her friend. “You speak nonsense. We’re going to live forever.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes. But just so you know.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You’re very strange.” She went back to braiding the older girl’s thin, silvery hair._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It’s because I love you, you know.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Her fingers stopped twisting the strands. “Love?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes. Once upon a long time ago, people used to love me, and I loved them. Didn’t people love you?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I don't know. Does it matter?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes. It matters.” Ali was suddenly very close, her voice intense and her hands gripping Natalya's face. “We are products, you and I, of this place, the Red Room. We are who they tell us to be. We do nothing but what they say. We believe what they tell us to think. We are nothing without them. And yet we are. You are more than they say you are.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Why do you say these things?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ali sighed, staring past Natalya. “I have a feeling. I fear...” Her voice trailed away._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You don't have to tell me,” Natalya said gently._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It’s just...do you know how beautiful you are, Talya?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I suppose.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“It’s the light in your eyes that makes you so. You didn’t have it when you came at first, but it’s strong now. And they’re trying to take it away from you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You aren’t making any sense,” Natalya said impatiently, pushing away the discomfort that the warning words held._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I heard them talking.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“And?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ali shook her head. “I don’t know what they’re planning. But don’t let the light go out. Please. No matter what happens.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Why do you care?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Because I love you.” Her words were low and gentle and matter-of-fact and natural, and Natalya felt a strange buoyancy from them. Ali laid her head in Natalya’s lap. Natalya stroked it until the girl fell asleep, but she herself kept a vigil the whole night, for a deep unease had seized her despite the joy she was slowly gaining_ _ _ _ _ _

______Making his rounds, the cuffer left them alone. Give them one night of happiness before the pain starts, he thought._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______Once a month, a pair of students was chosen to fight to the death--or until one was knocked out, but that generally did not happen because the girls were trained to kill first, not disable. Usually, Natalya had nothing to worry about, for they did not want to risk an injury or even a death for their star pupil. Usually, Ali had nothing to worry about, for she was almost invisible to them. But after their morning run and breakfast and language training and first hour of ballet and fighting warm-ups, they were both called to choose their weapon in case the fight lasted long enough to need one, they knew._ _ _ _ _ _

______And then they were in the ring across from each other, eyes locked. They touched hands in respect--no gloves allowed when a match was as serious as this--and Natalya hissed, “I will not harm you,” and Ali said,_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Nor I you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______And then they were at each other’s throats as they had been thousands of times before. And the fight flowed as instinctively as it did normally, except this time, there was a sense of danger, a tingling in palms and a heaviness in the pits of stomachs. Sweat flowed freely, and breaths came heavily. A handler stopped them so they wouldn’t pass out. They drank the water that was put in front of them, and dimly took in the information that they’d been at it for thirty-eight minutes and didn’t they think it was time to create a conclusion to this great saga?_ _ _ _ _ _

______They fought again, reveling in every movement and yet hating it at the same time, for neither wanted to cause pain to the other. Sweat tasted sweet, and the world began to whirl. They were stopped again and handed their weapons. Ali threw her double swords at the wall; they stuck there, trembling. Natalya tucked her knife into her boot. They fought again._ _ _ _ _ _

______The other girls were sent off to their classes. Ivan came in and broke the fight and they could do nothing but stand there, dead-eyed. A rule has been changed, he said. You can’t walk out of this ring until one of you is dead._ _ _ _ _ _

______I know why you’re doing this, Natalya thought. You want to break me. But we will stay here forever, if need be, for the love is too great..._ _ _ _ _ _

______“We will stay here forever,” Ali was saying to him, her face defiant and fierce. “You’ve made the perfect fighting machines. We feel no pain. We will stay forever. There will be no blood tonight.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“As you wish,” Ivan sneered. Natalya ignored the burning hatred that filled her body with new energy._ _ _ _ _ _

______And they fought again. It was nighttime. They could tell because the school was quiet and the light was no longer natural. All of the sudden, Ali remembered that she was enhanced but Natalya wasn’t because she was too young yet and how was she still fighting she was going to kill herself she mustn't let that happen she mustn’t let that magnificent spirit break because she _loves _her.___ _ _ _ _ _

________She payed attention to Talya’s physical presence and found her wavering and weakening but determined. Of course she was._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Talya,” she muttered thickly. “It is time.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“For what?” The girl’s green eyes were unfocused, her nostrils flared, her cheeks burnt with blood._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“What I was talking about. Earlier. Because I love you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Natalya stopped for a moment, dropped her guard. Ali rushed forward to put her in a submission, but Talya ducked it as soon as the older girl moved._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________You’re getting obvious, Ali, she chided herself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I won’t let you do this,” Natalya said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You will.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They fought again. The instructors were calling out to them, urging death and pain and blood and ruthlessness. Natalya was crying._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Take out the knife, Natalya, Ali thought._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Take our your knife, Yana,” Ali said. Why did I call her that? she thought. Oh. I’ve read her files. She was Yana once. With a family and a chicken that she loved. “Kill me,” she said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Must I?” It was a little girl’s voice that spoke to her, not the familiar, hardened assassin she was used to._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You...you must.” She didn’t want to say it, didn't want to demand her own death, so she was quiet and reluctant._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No.” Natalya stood up straight, several feet away. Her hands were balled up beside her. “No. No.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Talya. Let me go.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You will be the most beautiful thing the world has ever seen,” she said, reaching out for another submission but missing and then she had pickpocketed the knife from the boot and was holding its perfectly lethal edge to her own neck._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Wait,” said Natalya._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“For what?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Okay. I’ll...I’ll do it. But how do I cut so I...”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“So I go the quickest?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Talya nodded, eyes full of nothing but hopeless grief. Ali took her hand, guided it to her throat, and drew a line with her finger._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I don’t want to do this. I’m so scared. I’ll hate myself forever if I do--”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Thank you,” Ali said. “I don’t have to be here anymore. There was no place for me on this earth anyways.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I will be lonely without you. We could just keep on fighting until we both die maybe.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Natalya. Don’t let the light go out. I love you--” and then Ali jerked herself up enough so that the tip of the knife entered her throat, and Natalya cried out once and finished the job as quickly as she could and tore off her jacket and wrapped it around the wound so she wouldn’t have the see the blood come out so quickly and she curled herself around Ali’s warm body and bit her tongue until it bled too, and she cried silently until they tranquilized her and everything went dark and she wished for the dark to be death because that was what she was. That was what they created there at the Red Room._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________They made little girls into Death._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey i ship ali x talya but they're little babies so nope.  
> i'm a murderer idk anymore.


	10. welcome to pain

“I am very pleased,” Ivan said, “with the results of our solution.” He rubbed his veiny hands together. “She is ours now. She has nothing to live for but the mission we give her.”

“You always pull it off, Ivan,” said a handler, clapping him on the back. 

“You get the best girls, too,” a greasy cook grinned.

Even Madame B. nodded her approval. “We have her,” she said. “We have The One. And the others are very good as well. Sofia Nikolaeva is very close in terms of what we are looking for, as is the little one, Katya Mikhaeva. And of course, everyone else _does _show promise. We’ve got the best narrowed down. The next ten years will be a flurry of preparation to release a larger number of our girls into the world than we have ever done before.”__

__“And the graduation ceremony? And everything it entails, of course.”_ _

__“We’ll be testing it on three of the older girls within the next few weeks.” She turned to a sickly pale secretary. “Then how many will we have left?”_ _

__The gangly man swallowed. “Er...twenty-eight.”_ _

__She smirked frigidly at everyone in the room. “Twenty-eight little spiders. A perfect number.”_ _

__

__Handlers were assigned to each girl. They spent all day and all night with them, watching them and talking with them and giving them pointers on how to improve and worming their way into the students’ psyches until the girls trusted them. Ivan, of course, set himself up with Natalya. He slept below her on Ali’s old bunk. He talked to her, called himself her papa again, stroked her hair, pushed her hard._ _

__“It’s just like old times,” he said to her._ _

__Natalya remembered a life with in a little cottage, training with him and. She remembered that she liked it there, that it was nice. Why did it have to change? she wondered distantly._ _

__She stopped talking again. Why did she think again? she thought. Once, she hadn’t talked. She was almost certain of that. There was a fire and animals that needed saving and a snakebite and a chicken and everything was muddled in her head. Just focus on the fighting. Keep breathing. Keep getting better. And dance. Dance yourself clean, Natalya, she told herself._ _

__One day, as she was dressing, she caught sight of herself in a mirror. The person she saw was skinny, ribs sticking haphazardly at odd angles, joints obvious, cheekbones high. Stringy muscles covered up the bones but only _just _. She touched her skin and found it foreign. Her hair was long and stringy, and her eyes were empty. I do not know who I am, she thought.___ _

____“Are you done?” asked Katya impatiently._ _ _ _

____Katya knows who she is, Natalya said inside herself as she moved away from the mirror. She is pink and warm and vibrant and awake. She is fierce and almost happy. What is wrong with me?_ _ _ _

____Evidently, other people noticed too, that she was all wrong, for Ivan came to her in the middle of the night and uncuffed her and threw her over his shoulder. He took her to a room far beneath the main building and with another man’s help, secured her to a table. Needles and sharp, uncomfortable things were poked into her until she felt as if she were full of holes, that she would fall apart easily._ _ _ _

____We’ve got to start the serums early, she heard Ivan’s voice say, urgent and angry. She’s too far gone._ _ _ _

____But the risk?_ _ _ _

____We’ll leave the aging alone. Just give her the healing. Quickly. They rushed to obey, pumping her full of something that felt like strength. She didn’t want the strength, tried to push it away and out of her. So they sedated her. As she fell asleep, she could hear Ivan muttering, “I shouldn’t have done it. But I needed to. Who would’ve guessed that she’d take it this hard? I’ve got to teach her that it’s better not to feel anything at all...”_ _ _ _

____The next time she looked in the mirror, her hair was shiny and healthy and thick, and her eyes were bright. She lifted up her shirt to see her stomach, and her ribs were no longer visible. Her muscles looked healthy. She felt a new strength within her, and she raised her head and felt the fire burning through her eyes. “After all,” she said aloud, “I don’t need to feel anything.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Repetition gives knowledge, and knowledge gives power. That’s what they told the girls over and over. So over and over, Natalya practiced everything that they taught her. How to slip in and out of clothing in under thirty seconds. How to down liquor without getting drunk. How to make men (and women) insatiable and paralyzed with lust. How to string together dizzying combinations of flips that aided their fights. How to disarm any person and have their own weapon turned on them before they understood what was happening. How think nothing of giving up their bodies in order to finish a mission. How to dance and dance and _dance _until even when they wasn’t rehearsing a routine, their movements were still made of the fluid control that was learned during ballet.___ _ _ _

______I am not broken, she said to herself. I am whole. I am unbreakable. She was a perfect liar, a brilliant manipulator, a natural actress in everything she did. Everyone knew it; everyone stood in awe of her talent. She was so convincing that she began to believe herself._ _ _ _ _ _

______She did not allow herself to miss Ali at any moment. She did not feel. They told her that she didn’t need to, and they knew everything. So she bolted the door that lead to her emotions, burying anything that wasn’t anger and hatred and power-lust with sheer strength of her willpower._ _ _ _ _ _

______Training hurt. She wasn’t shy about admitting it. But she didn’t let it rule her. She was Natalya, and she was unbreakable. The first time that they showed the girls how knives felt against the skin, tears pricked her eyes. It didn’t feel right or withstandable the way the kicks and punches and takedowns did. But she pushed away the pain and kept fighting until she’d knocked her opponent out and they could give medical attention to the gaping cut._ _ _ _ _ _

______The bullet that lodged in her shoulder hurt more, as did the removal (without anesthetic) and the healing and rehabilitation and but somehow, it was easier that time. She just shrugged it off, biting her tongue at the initial shock that slammed through her body, keeping her face a total blank. Don’t let the fear in. Don’t let the pain show. Eyes are windows to the soul, but my eyes are nailed down against the storm to come, she told herself._ _ _ _ _ _

______When they sent her into an empty, dark room to have a man for the first time, that was the worst of all. It seemed as though the most secret, hidden parts of herself were being laid open, and it hurt, and she hated it. But she closed her eyes, and she made it through, and it wasn’t so bad the next time. And then they told her (again and again) that it meant nothing so there was no reason to be afraid or dread; it was just a tool and she could use it as easily as guns or gadgets or martial arts. She was a woman; therefore, brute strength was partially inaccessible. But sometimes, what her body offered was far more powerful than flesh and sinew and tendons, and therefore, she had the advantage.  
She never did learn to love it like she loved the fighting. Despite knowing better, knowing that it was easy and okay and a weapon and meaningless, it still felt like a violation. It is okay, she told herself. It is just part of my job._ _ _ _ _ _

______ _ _ _ _

______They gave her the honor of the name Black Widow on her fifteenth birthday._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Of course, you understand, we can’t give you the graduation ceremony yet,” Ivan was saying._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I know. I’m not changed enough. I’m still too young.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You look woman enough to me,” Ivan laughed, his hands ghosting down the curve of her back. She reached for him, squeezed his arm until he winced away._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Don’t.” Her voice was hard and certain. She had decided to tolerate him. But there were actions that she would _not _permit.___ _ _ _ _ _

________“As I was saying,” Ivan gulped, rapidly moving on to cover his embarrassment, “your seventeenth birthday seems about right. You’re prepared now. Just missing a few finishing touches.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You could send me out on missions,” she suggested._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“We don’t want to risk you. We’ve waited too long for our Black Widow to waste her before she’s ready.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________It made her slightly uncomfortable, the way they all fawned over her and referred to her as some sort of god-machine. She was the Chosen One, a splendid human, and yet she was also the most perfect tool they’d ever created. The dichotomy was not lost on her; she solved it by ignoring it and becoming better._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She was coming into herself, beginning to fit her body. The arts of seduction that had seemed so ludicrous on a skinny eight-year-old now made sense, for they were as deadly as a bullet to the heart. They had told her over and over again of the significance that her name held, how she would spin a web, a beautiful, careful, lethal web, and then kill her mate when it came time. How her venom was deadly. How she was beautiful and elusive and not allowed to be human anymore. She had seen the designs for her uniform. It was sleek and black and had room for a body that was not all hers, and yet it had awakened a burning desire in her to fill it out, to wear it and fulfill her calling._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And yet she didn’t know what they needed her for. They had thousands of agents, all trained, all field-proven and trustworthy. She didn’t even know who _they _were. But they had created her. And she trusted them. And they knew best. So she would obey them. After all, she had had nothing before they took her in, and now she was everything.  
They took away Ali, a tiny voice inside her groaned. No, she told the voice, _you _did that. That was your first mistake. You will never make another._____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________It was the graduation test, and so far, everything had been easy. Dealing with technology--hacking and decryption and everything else--was a simple task, as was the hand-to-hand combat against thugs outnumbering and out-muscling her. She had no problem with performing the first ballet routine she ever learned; she even instilled it with emotions (false) to prove her strength of manipulation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eyes closed, she breathed deep, preparing herself. It was time for the last parts of the test. First, the shooting range. Targets and then a prisoner, no different than before what she’d been practicing for almost ten years. Speed and accuracy and not stopping to think about the human life that she was taking. That was second nature. Pure instinct._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________The gun was already loaded with bullets; she checked just to make sure. The first round was perfect. It was just a simple outline of a human-esque shape. The second round--oh _God _whose face is that? It’s Ali. No Ali is dead. It’s just their tricks because they like to mess with us. Just shoot Natalya Romanova and don’t hesitate. You killed her yourself already. Do it again.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________She kept her face cold and shot. The projection of Ali’s face drifted sheepishly away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________They put a bag over the prisoner’s face. She didn’t look underneath to see its face. She was on a mission. She was a machine. She did not need to ask questions. They had everything set up just perfectly. She is their tool, and she doesn’t need to ask the questions._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________The prisoner died beautifully, his heart’s blood pooling on the dirty cement floor. Natalya took a moment to appreciate her work, then turned to bow to the Madame. And then a man was bursting through the door, and Natalya drew a knife from her boot because it was ready and available, and the man didn’t have any right to be there during a _graduation _. He took the knife from her easily. She was surprised. Her opponents usually were not quick enough to carry out a successful disarming. She slipped into his arms, hoping to take him off-guard, but he was ready for her tricks and held on tight.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________“Come on, little spider,” he hissed in her ear. “Bite me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Oh. He had been _sent _. This was on _purpose _. His thick, veiny arms were under her head, pressing into her neck and choking her. She could have escaped, but she wanted to try something different. Manipulation, then death. She gasped audibly for breath, then surrendered. The madame pursed her lips. She was angry. Natalya grimaced. She wanted it to go farther, wanted the stimulation to be real to prove what she could do when the situation was not controlled. She knew she could act helpless and extract information from someone without them realizing it, then remove herself from the bonds and have them dead or unconscious immediately._____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________The madame must have known this, for she had taught strategy to the girls herself, and she nodded slowly, a sick smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. But she spoke only words of disapproval. “Sloppy. Pretending to fail.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Natalya did not correct her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________She graduated with the highest points of any girl in the Red Room. No one mentioned her “slip-up.” No one apologized for the sabotage with ali’s face. All they mentioned was her score and “congratulations” and “we’ll finish up the process tonight.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Natalya knew what that meant. They were going to give her the serums. Increased strength. Elongated youth. Accelerated healing. All these would be hers. But when they woke her in the middle of the night and strapped her to a stretcher and took her to the hospital and numbed her stomach, she was confused. Surely all this preparation wasn’t necessary for a few shots?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Ivan was there (of course)._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“What are you doing to me?” she asked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“It must be done to all the girls,” he mumbled, looking away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“What must?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“Uh...sterilization. It’s... _efficient _. It’s one less thing to worry about, for a child is the one thing that might matter more than a mission. Plus, it makes everything easier. Even killing.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________She shook her head. She would never let that get in her way if it ever happened. She didn’t want this taken out of her control. It was more violation. One more thing that she didn’t get to decide. And they knew what was best, but maybe they didn’t know about this._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________But she was tied down. Her body wouldn’t obey her. She felt the dull, cold ache of something tugging at her belly (the scalpel probably) and knew that this was not her choice after all. So she shut the door to her feelings and closed off her face til it was cruel and devilish and beautiful beyond measure._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________She caught a glimpse of the blood and something wrapped in paper that had been inside of her and felt a distant sadness, a persistent ache for the loss of it, for the loss of what could have been. But she was the Black Widow, and the Black Widow didn’t need a child to make her happy. The Black Widow didn’t need to be _happy _at all. She was a tool, a machine, a perfect spy and assassin and whoever they needed her to be.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	11. they call it freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN WHICH NATASHA IS BADASS

She was the the Black Widow, and she was magnificent, clothed in black, curves kissed. Chin up, eyes flashing, daring anyone to fight her, cold and confident and the most beautiful thing anyone had seen. Little Katya, bigger now, ran her slender artist's fingers over Natalya’s arm.

“This is your new uniform?”

“Yes. It is nice, isn't it?”

“It's lovely,” the girl breathed. “You look like a real assassin.”

Natalya smiled grimly. “That _is_ the idea.”

“What does the serum feel like inside of you?”

“Not much different. Only I have a strange energy buzzing in the pit of my stomach, and I feel a little more awake than I have. And I have the _knowledge_  of what I'm capable of, and that changes everything.”

“I wish I was ready to start,” Katya said wistfully, bright eyes glowing in her hollowed face.

Natalya nodded. She remembered the ambition beginning to warm in her heart when she was Katya’s age. “Just wait. It will come soon.”

“Natalya. They want you.” A serious young man in a uniform motioned to her, and she went with him to a room. Ivan was standing against a wall, telling a lewd story to someone who was laughing, egging him on. She looked away from them, focused on the fat man in the chair surrounded by papers and anxious assistants.

“Ah, Natalya,” he boomed, motioning her over. “You look magnificent, little spider.”

She smiled thinly. “Thank you.”

“You’re outfitted with all the tools and weapons you may need?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Good.” He sat back, surveying  the room. Conversations continued around him. He cleared his throat meaningfully, and they jumped to attention. “Thank you,” he said, a cruel curl in his lip. “As you all know, we are gathered to see Natalya Romanova off on her first... _mission_ , as it were. Petrovich?”

Ivan stepped forward, sober and businesslike. “Sir.”

“I’m sending you out with her. She needs eyes and a guide. But do not interfere unless absolutely necessary. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Ivan said, nodding and bowing and all obsequious servitude and humility. The fat man ignored him, turning to Natalya.

“Romanova.”

“Sir.”

“You have no room to make mistakes. We have trained you to perfection. We have given you everything you could ever need. This is the _real_ graduation test. There are ways of discarding those who do not fulfill their purposes. It is easy. A bullet in the dark. Memory wipes. Maximum security prison. See?”

“I am the Black Widow, sir. I am the best you’ve ever seen. I will not be failing,” she said firmly. The idea of infallibility was familiar now, comforting and right. It was almost easy to make herself believe it.

A man behind her snorted. “Big talker, this one.”

Ivan glared hard into the corner where the guard slouched. “It is not with idle boasts that she speaks; the drunken words that spill out of your mouth are different than--”

“Petravich,” warned the fat man.

Ivan bowed his head, nostrils flared. “It is just that she is perfection. How dare he mock perfection?” he mumbled.

The fat man nodded. “She is your child, your pet project. It is alright. Now, Natalya. Perfection. Here is the file. You can read it on the ride there.”

Natalya took the cream folder and saluted. “It shall be done.” The man smiled, his yellow teeth glinting dully in the room’s poor light. “Come, Ivan,” she said as she passed the man. Ivan came, keeping a respectful distance between them.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they passed through corridors.

“May I lead you there?”

“Yes.”

They arrived at a parking lot full of vehicles waiting to be chosen and used. Ivan pulled a huge bunch of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the doors, opening the back for her. She nodded her thanks.

“We have supplies in the back,” he said, starting the engine. It purred to life; Natalya could feel the power vibrating through her. “And there’s a light...here.” He switched it on for her. “Read up. We have a two hour drive. When you’re done, we’ll talk through a plan.”

“Alright.” The nerves were starting to jump sickeningly in her stomach, despite her refusal to acknowledge them. She stroked the pistol on her leg to comfort herself. The familiarity of the cold metal soothed her.

The mission seemed simple. Get into a hospital, steal some patient records, replace them with fake papers, get out without anyone noticing.

“How do we get to the records room? We didn’t bring any costumes,” she asked after thinking awhile.

“Think, little tzarina.”

“You can get sick. And I can bring you in.”

“I can’t feign sickness. I’m not a good actor.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “You’ve been in this industry far too long to not be a good actor. Everyone is a good actor. Everyone is always lying.”

“This is different,” he protested. “I can’t act out a fever or heart stutters.”

“I’ll beat you up, and then it will be real,” she said, her voice brimming with finality.

Ivan smiled secretly. She was perfection. “Fine,” he said. “I was drunk, in a bar down the street--”

“There’s a bar down the street?”

“There’s a bar everywhere. It’s Russia.”

“Still. We’ll check.”

“There’s a map of the city _here_.”

“You were drunk in a bar and someone made a comment about me, your daughter, and you didn’t like that.”

“And I was far drunker than him.”

“And you’re unconscious, and I’m worried.”

“Good.” There was a silence for a while.

“Can I beat you up still?”

Ivan sighed. “Sure. But not _too_ badly.”

“Thank you,” Natalya said quietly. They sat in silence again. “What do we do when we get into the hospital?”

“We’ll wait and see,” said Ivan. “We can make our plans. But the final outcome? Who knows? No one. We just have to feel it out.”

“Where are the replacement papers?”

“In my coat.”

“Give them to me. I’ll put them in my purse,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s your mission.”

“Are there civilian clothes anywhere in this car?”

“The trunk. Check the trunk.”

Natalya scrabbled around in the back with boxes and bags, returning to her seat with an outfit clutched in her hands. “These are what people wear nowadays?” she asked. “They’re not very pretty.”

“I think you’ll look very nice in...in _lady’s_  clothes,” Ivan said in a low, trembling tone.

Natalya didn’t answer. She felt sick in her stomach when he spoke to her like that. Why couldn’t he just be her handler, her partner? Her papa, as he had wanted so long ago?

“Should I put it on over my suit?” she whispered finally.

“I suppose,” he said. “We’ll work on designing a functional civilian’s suit for you when we get back for missions like these.”

“That sounds good.”

“We’ve still a ways to go. You should sleep. Keep up your strength.”

“I’ve been enhanced. I have all the strength in the world. And I want to be alert and think.”

“Don’t think _too_  hard,” he said, laughing a little, as if to suggest that he was joking. But he meant it. Natalya knew he did.

Traveling was certainly soothing. The sun set slowly beside them, the golden light seeping sweetly away. There was nothing to observe but the sounds of the world rushing by, the spin of tires on half-paved roads. Natalya stared at the dreary landscape, the endless grey hills that caressed the horizon, and they relaxed her. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she slumped against the leather interior of the car.

“Romanova. Agent. Black Widow.”

An uncomfortable voice was breaking into her dreams of a farm and a mama and--she was awake, calm and professional and capable.

“We’re here?”

“Indeed. How was your nap?” Ivan asked, laughter quivering behind his solemnity.

“Refreshing,” she said, her voice made of ice.

“You ready?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ve _been_  ready. Let’s go. I’m going to smash your nose into your brain,” she said.

Ivan sighed. Occasionally, his job did not seem like a productive use of his time. This was one of those days. But he got out of the car, leaving the keys and a handful of coins with the promise of more to come with a skinny, wide-eyed boy, and tucked a flask of vodka in his pockets.

 

 

“Please. Is this hospital admitting any new patients?”

Lidiya glanced up from the papers she was organizing. A distraught young woman stood in front of her, hands twisting nervously, makeup smudged, hair mussed.

“Of course. How may I help you?”

“My papa...he got into a fight. In the bar. He’s...I’m very worried,” the woman gasped.

“Where is he?”

“Umm...a couple of blocks away. He fell. I think he’s unconscious. I had to leave him. I needed to look for help. _Please_.” Her chest heaved. Tears swam in her eyes.

“I’ll send people out with a stretcher. Don’t worry. He’ll be just fine,” Lidiya said, jumping up and waving to Marta. “Take an ambulance and follow her. It could be bad,” she whispered in the nurse’s ear. The girl nodded and ran to call the emergency team.

Lidiya turned back to the panicking woman. “We’ll need you to lead the team to your father, alright? Can you do that?”

She nodded, steeling herself, finding a core of strength. “I can. I can.”

“Good girl.”

 

 

“Well, the good news is that the damage doesn’t seem _too_  serious,” the doctor said. “It only looks bad. And lucky for you, your father is young and healthy. He’ll bounce back quickly. I do need to run some tests, just to make sure. We’ll keep him here overnight and run tests in the morning. Is that alright?”

Natalya nodded. Perfect. “It’s just fine. Thank you so much, sir,” she said, still in character. She allowed her face to show relief and exhaustion and the tiniest hint of worry. “Can I stay in here with him?”

“I’ll have a nurse bring a cot in,” the doctor said.

“Thank you.”

“You might want to help your father stay away from bars or alcohol for a while,” he said, winking.

She laughed. It was strained and short and a little ashamed. “I’ll try,” she whispered.

“Good. Very good. I’ll leave you two in peace now. Goodnight,” the doctor said.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, waiting until the sound of his footsteps faded away. “ _Papa_?” she hissed.

Ivan grunted a single word. “Wait.”

So she did. She sat on the floor and put her purse under her head and closed her eyes almost all the way like she was an tired, anxious young girl who’d just had something traumatic happen. She waited until the nurse (Lidiya?) came in with a foldable cot and helped her set it up and checked Ivan’s vitals once more just to make sure he was okay. Finally, it was quiet. The lights were dimmed. The hospital settled once more into sleep.

“Now?”

“Hang on.” Ivan groaned as he sat up. “You had to be this realistic?”

“I want my covers to be thorough and believable.”

“You just liked hurting me.”

She shrugged. “Do we stay the night here and let them confirm that you’re okay to leave?”

“Why not? It’ll cause less disruption.”

“If they catch me...”

“I’ll meet you at the car. You have your communication device?”

She tapped her ear. “Testing,” she whispered.

“You’re good. Go.”

She slipped off her heels and turned off the lights in the room. “I’m gone,” she hummed, almost cheerfully, as she slipped out of the room.

She remembered seeing a map of the building at the end of the corridor; she found and studied it. Office first and then the basement, she thought.

“The office has only current patient records,” she hissed. “I’m going downstairs.”

“Roger that,” crackled Ivan’s voice deep in her ear.

She crept down the creaking stairs. It was pitch black, nearly. She switched on a light, hoping it wouldn’t attract any unwelcome visitors. Stroking the gun on her leg, she eyed the storage units surrounding her. There was tidy filing system right over there...

Grachyov. That was the last name she was seeking. Grachyov...G...There it was. Grachyov, Vitaly. She took the file out, pulled the replacement from her purse, paused to make sure that they looked approximately the same, and made the switch. Done. She wanted to stop and breathe, to celebrate that she was doing perfectly so far. But she was the Black Widow and that would be a mistake and she did not make any mistakes. She danced out of the room, switched off the light, crept up the stairs, and was back in the room, tucked into the cot, the papers inside her purse beneath her head before Ivan had time to even think about worrying.

“You’ve got it?” was the only thing he said to her.

“Mhm,” she muttered, her voice made of ice. But her nerves jittered and bounced inside her stomach. She allowed herself a single smile of triumph before forcing her eyes shut.

“That was easy. Did they want to give me such an easy mission? That could build up false confidence, you know,” Natalya bubbled.

“Optimism goes against your conditioning,” Ivan said gruffly, a grin belying his harshness.

Natalya sighed and leaned against the seat of the car. “Just let me be happy for a minute,” she said.

“You’re happy right now?”

“Probably not. It’s probably just adrenaline or relief or something.” She laughed. “I don’t think I remember what happiness feels like.”

“Did you enjoy going on the mission?”

“I enjoyed not being at the Red Room.”

Ivan shrugged. “That’s good enough. You know, I’ll tell you something right now: I’m proud of you, my little tzarina.”

Natalya bowed her head. “Thank you,” she said gravely. She stared out the window, wishing that the hills would rush by faster than they were. They were boring now, not calming.“How much longer do we have left until we get there?”

“An hour and fifty minutes, princess.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“You could sleep again--”

“Can’t.”

“You could memorize the file that you got,” he suggested.

“I’m not going to look at it.”

“Why?”

“They didn’t give me permission to. What if it’s classified or sensitive? That wouldn’t go down well..”

“You’re very smart.”

“It’s because of my conditioning,” she smirked.

Ivan waved his hand dismissively. “Smartass. We’ll be there soon.”

Natalya grinned.

“That took a long time,” the fat man said.

“They don’t have any idea something happened in their establishment. Sir.” Natalya stood straight, eyes blazing. “We did a clean job.”

He chewed on his cheek. “It was clean. Very well thought out. You did well. But that was an easy mission, something we normally send...expendable agents on. I expect nothing less from you. _Black Widow_. Your next mission will be more...more bloody, I suppose.”

“Have you seen my face?” Ivan protested. “This was bloody enough.”

“Shut up, Petrovich.”

Ivan turned away, shoulders tensed, fists balled.

“Give me the file.”

The man rustled around in his desk. “Here you go. I want you two leaving at dawn.”

“I don’t get...any other partners?”

“Is there something wrong with Agent Petrovich?” the man said mockingly. Of course he knew everything about them, how uncomfortable Ivan made her. Of course he did.

Natalya swallowed down the sick feeling. “Nothing. Nothing wrong with him. I just wanted to meet other agents. Build up working relationships with more than one person. Just in case. You know? Precautions are never wasted.”

“You forget, girl, how long I’ve been in this industry. Go. Get some sleep. Train a little. Socialize with the other spiders. Find some mates--” he was chuckling now, the fat rolling on his stomach and cheeks and chin-- “and kill them when you’re done with their bodies.” He shooed her out, Ivan close behind.

“Why...why would you want a different partner?” Ivan asked. He sounded pitiful. Heartbroken. Natalya would’ve felt sorry for him if she knew what pity was.

“I told the man why. Weren’t you listening?”

“Natalya.”

She turned to stare him. “I beat you thoroughly, didn’t I?”

He nodded.

“It’s not personal. But this is my job now. My life. I want to learn everything, do everything. I want to be the best.”

“I’ll see you to your new quarters.”

“I don’t get to stay in my old bunk in the Red Room?”

He shook his head. “There’s a new girl sleeping there now. Four years old. Anastasia or something.”

“Four? God, that’s young.”

“Better results. Easier training. Why not?”

“I understand.”

“It’s here. This room. All yours. And here's the key.”

She took it, her graceful fingers brushing over his. He shivered. She didn’t know what she did to him, this perfect, perfect girl.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She nodded. “I’m ready.”

The sound of her voice is resolution and power and the fruition of all our years of experimentation, Ivan thought. To hear it is to know truth and to be swept away in a waterfall of lies, and it is all I have ever wanted out of a Widow.

“Good night,” he said soberly.

“Yes. Good night.” She slipped into the room. He could hear the lock _snick_  closed as soon as the door was fully shut. Gently, he caressed the door with his rough fingers. This she-devil was making a sentimental fool out of him. He didn’t care. He’d like to see any other person keep their heart from becoming hopelessly entangled with hers.

 

 

“So, I’m killing someone today.”

“Not like it’s your first time,” Ivan snorted.

“It’s my first time doing it as a job,” she said.

“And you’ll do fine.”

“He’s an important man?”

“Shouldn’t matter to you. The only thing you have to worry about is how well he dies.”

Natalya nodded. “No civilian’s clothes?”

“You’re the boss.”

“Right. Let’s wait until we get there to map everything out.”

“We’re taking a plane. Just so you know.”

“Okay. Are you flying it?”

Ivan laughed. “Of course not. I _can_. But we have pilots for such things.”

“I can fly planes too.”

“I know you can. It’s required. I made that rule.”

“You’re the boss.”

Ivan rolled his eyes. “Get along then.”

 

 

“Okay. Is this job to make a point or just to get someone annoying out of the way?” Natalya asked on the plane.

“Excuse me?”

“There are just so many ways to kill a man,” Natalya said, glancing at him from underneath her lashes and playing with the pistol strapped to her leg. “I’m just thinking about what to do to this one.”

Ivan shivered. “You’re scary sometimes, little tzarina.”

“Spiders always are.”

“Um, so I think it’s to make a point. At least, that’s what the commander was telling me. Make it loud, make it messy, make it obvious.”

“Got it. So...civilian clothes?”

“I suppose. But you’ll want something fancy. There’s a ball tonight...”

“Go shopping for me. I want a...a red dress. Plunging neckline. Snug fit.”

Ivan nodded. “As soon as we land, I’m on it.”

“Good.”

Confidence becomes you well, Ivan thought. You have that now, the knowledge that this is what you were made for, that you are not ill-prepared or lacking in skill or inherent knowledge. But it does not become you was well as the red dress will.

 

 

“Am I your date or your father for this ball?” Ivan asked, adjusting his tie.

“Date.” Natalya was nervous; her voice was clipped and terse.

“Perfect.”

“And I’ll go find him and dance with him and seduce him and he’ll take me to his room and then I’ll kill him,” she said.

“Yes. Sounds about right. Ready to go in?”

“Yep.”

“Earpieces?”

“Live.”

“Weapons?”

“I’ve got a lot. Hidden everywhere.”

“I believe that,” Ivan snickered.

“Let’s go.” She nestled her arm in the crook of his. They walked together, nodded majestically to the servants who opened the doors to the great halls, handed their invitations to another servant, and turned their party faces on.

“You’re a good dancer,” Ivan whispered to her.

“I know.”

“And this dress...you look very nice in it.”

Keep the sick feeling down. It’s not real, Natalya Romanova, she thought. Endure.

“That’s why we chose it, isn’t it?”

“It won’t be hard at all for you to seduce him,” he said.

“That makes it nice and simple for me, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“When this dance is over, let’s go get some drinks,” she said. “I’m thirsty.” She turned her green eyes to him, licked her lips, let a little color rise to her cheeks.  

“Practicing?” Ivan said, trembling.

“Warming up. Is it working?” she murmured, practically purring.

“Extremely.”

“Good.” It was as if a switch was turned then. She was cold again, closed off to him.

All around them, people were clapping. The dance was finished. Ivan bowed to her, and she curtsied. He lead her off of the floor to the bar in the corner of the room.

“What can I get for you?” the barkeeper asked cheerily.

Ivan looked to her. “Kvas, please,” she said, smiling. “I’m not looking for a wild time just yet.”

The man chuckled. “And you, sir?”

“Just a beer, thanks.”

“Coming right up.”

“Sit down. Let’s talk,” Natalya said.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. About you?”

Ivan laughed shortly. “No.”

“Come on. Tell me everything. I want to...get to know you.”

“Anya,” he protested, using her assumed name.

“Any past lovers?”

He rested his head in his hands and groaned. “A few.”

“Were they rich? Accomplished? Beautiful?”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he murmured, taking her hands.

She glanced away demurely. “You old flirt.” She searched the whole room casually, leaning against the counter so that the dress stretched deliciously across her body. “My two o’clock. There’s our friend,” she breathed.

“Does he see you?”

“He will in a moment. I’m staring at him. Talk to me. I’ll laugh.”

“You are the deadliest beauty I’ve ever seen.”

Breaking into sophisticated laughter, she ran her eyes over her target across the room, capturing him in her gaze. “He’s mine,” she said, her smile triumphant and seductive (always seductive). “Dance with me again. We’ll go close to him. When it’s over, you’ll go visit the men’s room.”

“Got it.”

Finally, she ripped the eye contact with the mission away, turning back to Ivan. “Dance with me?”

“Madam.”

She continued to watch the target, eating him alive with her eyes. “He wants me,” she said.

“Who wouldn’t?” Ivan said, his voice tensed with meaning.

“Please don’t say that,” she sighed.

“I _have_  to. You make me say things...”

“Quiet. Go. You need to freshen up.” She swayed off of the dance floor, swallowing the target with her eyes. He was drunk, she was sure. Drunk and slack-jawed and unable to think of anything but her. This was almost disgustingly easy. She walked up to him and just looked at him, a smile teasing at the edges of her lips.

“Hello, madam,” he said.

“Hello,” she said, her voice husky.

The man shivered. “You’re very beautiful.”

She smiled bigger. “Thank you.”

“I’ve been...watching you all night...that sounds creepy; I’m sorry; it’s just that you’re...you’re so _beautiful_.”

She laughed. “You’re very sweet. Wanna know something?”

The mission nodded eagerly.

“I haven’t been able to stop watching you either.”

His eyes widened. His breathing quickened. Internally, Natalya laughed. The Red Room was right. Men were so _easy_  to take.

“Will you dance with me?” he gasped.

“Of course.” The music started. She drew him out onto the floor, never taking her eyes off of his. She pressed close against him, the heat of their bodies mixing.

You’re mine, she thought, over and over again. You’re mine. Welcome to the web. I’ve got you tangled in my strings. You shan’t be escaping anytime soon.

“I have a room in a hotel,” she whispered. “It’s down the street. Close to here.”

“Won’t that man that you came with mind?”

She glanced around the room. Good. He was gone. “No. He won’t,” she laughed. “We have an...arrangement.”

“Then yes. Let’s go.”

He took her hand, and they were gone.

 

 

He kissed her in the elevator. The air between them had grown thick, and he wanted her, and the alcohol was burning in his veins so he cupped her face in his warm hands and kissed her. And she responded. And they didn’t stop until they were in her room and the door was locked and she pulled away for a moment to breathe.

“I need to use the restroom for a moment,” she said, her hair mussed and her cheeks flushed.

He nodded. When she came back, there was a new light in her eyes.

“Let’s play a little game,” she rasped.

“What kind of game?”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a length of rope.

His eyes opened wide. “You...you like...that?”

“It doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Go ahead.”

When he was trussed up so tightly that he was unable to move (the rope even burned a little, but it was worth it, he figured), she reached into her bag again and pulled out...a _gun_? There was a gun in her hands. Why was there a gun? She was loading and cocking it and why was it against his head?

“I’m sorry to do this,” she said. The allure and flirtation and desire had all disappeared from her voice. It was cold now, impersonal and efficient and _cold_. “You seem like a nice person.”

“Please don’t do this you don’t have to do this I only wanted to touch you and know you a little because you were so beautiful _ple_ _ase_  I didn’t even catch your name...”

“Call me Black Widow,” her beautiful lips said mockingly. “It’s a type of spider, a deadly one. They always kill their mates when they’re done with them. You’re a smart man. I’m sure you can make the connexion.”

“But why--”

She pulled the trigger.

 

 

“Come and see my work.”

“It’s done?” Ivan’s voice crackled hollowly over the earpiece.

“It is.”

“I’m coming. Wait.” Ivan burst through the door. “Well. There certainly is a lot of blood.”

Natalya raised her eyebrows. “It's not like you haven't seen worse.”

“Pinning his skin back to show his...innards is a particularly _artistic_  touch.”

She shrugged. “His file said that he enjoys biology. He makes a hobby of dissecting animals and displaying them in cases.Those who know him will understand.”

“Shall we go?”

“Sure.”

“My lady.”

On the way out of the hotel, Natalya stopped at the front desk. “Umm, excuse me? You should check on the man in room 203. I think something's wrong with him.”

The secretary barely glanced up. “Thank you, madam. We’ll check up on it. Have a nice night.”

“Thank you. We shall.” She swept grandly out of the hotel, Ivan in tow.

Rain was pouring down by the time they got to the plane. Natalya’s dress clung to her, and she covered herself with a blanket. She was quiet on the way back. Ivan gave her the space she needed.

“Are you thinking about killing him? Running his death over and over in your mind?” Ivan asked as the plane began its descent.

Natalya glanced up, surprised. “No.”

“You’re very serious.”

“Mhm.”

“I was just wondering if it was...too hard for you.”

She laughed then. “No. That was fine. It’s just that this, going out and acting like I’m a normal person and then killing and returning to being someone’s weapon is how I’m going to be living now. And it’s going to last for a very long time since I’m going to live almost forever.”

“And?”

“And that feels oddly constraining.”

Ivan sat up, his muscles twitching, his face almost contorted with a sudden, quick anger. “Constraining?  _You’re_ the boss. _You’re_ in charge of the mission, of how we do things, of the roles we play.  _You’re_ even in charge of life or death. That seems like real freedom to me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m tired. My words meant nothing. They were silly talk. You’re probably right.”

Ivan leaned back, content. “Of course I’m right.” He nodded. “You did very well. I can’t wait for what they have in store for you.” He reached out and patted her hand. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

Natalya forced a smile, pushed back the nausea. Thought about the freedom that she’d been granted. It was the only way to endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to make ivan not completely hateable when he's out with her to mirror natalya's conflicted feelings about him. she doesn't like him but he's the closest thing to a parent or friend that she has, and he is funny and smart and brave sometimes, i think. and it is very rare for someone to be so completely evil that they have no good qualities or humanity left.  
> i really enjoyed writing this chapter. it was fun. idk.


	12. how do i lie awake now

“You’ve just jacked up this whole mission,” Natalya hissed, shoulders tensed and mouth tight. Murder burned bright in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to...”

“Of course you didn’t. It’s always an accident with you. And the best part is that you made me to be perfect; you’ve told me that again and again. And then you go do stupid shit like this and hold me back and interrupt me when I’m just beginning the best of my work--”

“It turned out okay,” Ivan protested.

“Because of  _ me _ . I fixed the situation. I cleaned up after you. I manipulated who I needed to and killed more than I should have killed, and you came along and  _ ruined  _ it. I can’t believe this. You’re ruining my reputation. I’m perfect. You’re ruining it. You’re ruining--” Her breathing was so frantic and labored that he worried for her health and sanity. 

“Widow. Calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself. Close your eyes. Breathe.”   

She did not calm or close eyes or breathe. Her jaw worked and she glared at him, her eyes sharper daggers than anything she’d ever wielded. “I hate you,” she ground through clenched teeth.

Ivan straightened himself. There was something he could do, although handlers were encouraged to keep this tactic to a minimum for the negative response it triggered. “Пауза, фермы девушка,” he snapped. 

The words turned a switch in her brain. She froze as she had been programmed to do. It was a safety feature that each asset, each weapon, each Widow was given. The response was conditioned into them from the beginning of their training, and only their handlers knew their charge’s codes. 

Ivan waited until her breathing had slowed and her face had calmed before he released her with a touch to the pulse point in her neck. She drooped, breathing hard, eyes devoid of any emotion or thought at all. 

“Are you stable?” he asked.

She turned away from him, angry still, though the anger was not the kind that could destroy him. 

“Agent,” he insisted. 

“I am stable.” 

“Please come with me.”

“Can’t I just go to my room? I want to sleep. I’m tired. I want to  _ sleep _ . ”

“You will come with me immediately, Widow,” Ivan said, adjusting his voice so that it radiated with gentleness and compassion instead of his usual grating tones.

They walked through endless halls until Natalya wondered how they weren’t lost. She’d never been so deep in wherever-the-hell-this-place-was. They were stopped and Ivan was knocking at a door. A funny little man opened up, wide eyes made wider by thick lensed spectacles. 

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I want a psych eval on her right away. How long does it take?”

“Do you want it the old-fashioned way or the new way?” he asked, scrabbling around in drawers.

“Whatever’s the best for her. Whatever’s the best...” Ivan trailed off helplessly. “As you can see, she’s not quite stable.”

“I understand. Name of patient?”

“Romanova, Natalya.”

The little man glanced over his glasses. “She’s one of the spiders?”

Ivan nodded. “ _ The _ Black Widow.”

“Her conditioning cracked?”

“No. No. Our conditioning is perfect for them, really. It’s something else, I think. I had to use her control word. She was in such a rage, and she was really dangerous. And it’s not the first time this has happened.”

“Hmm.” The doctor’s wrinkled hands were traveling gently down her body, probing for injury or physical symptoms “Natalya?”

“Sir.” Her voice was dull

“I’m going to put you to sleep for a while, and while you’re asleep, I’m going to project different images and ideas into your brain. I will then record your unconscious physical response, mental response, and emotional response. When you awaken, you will probably feel sleepy and confused. You might even want to take a few days off, just to make sure you’re completely balanced.”

“Why are you telling her these things?” Ivan cut in. “I’m her handler. I’m the one who needs to know what you’ll do. She just sits there and does as she’s told.”

The doctor turned to him, mild eyes overflowing with compassion. “But she is a human, sir, and very much her  _ own  _ human. Don’t you think she deserves to know what is going to be done to her, sir?”

“You may continue with your testing.,” Ivan said stiffly, refusing to acknowledge the doctor’s speech.

“Indeed. Now lie back, Natalya, and slow your heart. Roll up your sleeves, please. I’m just going to slip this needle in your vein--see? Easy. Close your eyes. Good. Good. That’s very nice. She’s asleep now. Mr. Petravich?”

“Mmm.”

“I would have you leave while she is undergoing the testing. It is vital for the atmosphere of the room...”

“Yes. Atmosphere. Of course.” His moustache twitched with the intensity and significance of his indignation and fury and shame. “Who does he think he is, anyway?” he muttered as he left the room.

The doctor locked the door behind him. 

 

Several hours later, the doctor opened the door. Ivan was asleep, pressed against the wall. “Mr. Petravich?” he said, nudging him gently with the tip of his leather shoe.

The agent exploded awake; his gun was pressed against the doctor’s temple before any of them could even take a breath. 

“Sir. Sir. Please,” the doctor gasped. 

“Sorry.” Ivan holstered his gun. “What are the results?”

“We must discuss them all together,” the doctor said. 

Ivan pushed past him, searching for his princess. She was lying on the table, eyes closed, skin almost translucent. He rushed to her, worry choking his throat. But before he could reach her, check on her, touch her, the doctor was in front of him, blocking his path. “Move,” he growled. 

“For her health,” the doctor insisted, “you must wait. There is information that you must know before you...approach her.”

“Then let us talk.”

The doctor went to Natalya. “Are you with us, my dear?”

She opened her eyes painfully. “Yes.” 

“Sit, then.” He rustled in a file. “Now, as I speak of the results, please remain quiet until we are ready to discuss it. You understand, Petravich?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I ran several of the most common stressors for mental distress through her mind. Positions that would be morally compromising--”

“They don’t have morals,” Ivan broke in.

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “I asked you to wait.”

“I know. But I just wanted to tell you. We get rid of their morals and their conscience and everything else that could stop them...”

“Sir.”

“Sorry,” Ivan muttered.

“Positions that would be morally compromising or potentially traumatic situations were dead ends. You are right; she has no moral compass. Murder nor sex nor stealing nor lying caused any response except that of recognition and security. ”

“That’s obvious; it’s her job--”

“And so I searched for events that might hold triggers for an angry, panicked response, but much of her childhood is obscured.”

“We do that on pur--”

“And so then I looked for people, those who play important roles in her life. There was one, a fellow student that she killed...”

“That was part of her training and conditioning. It finished her... _ moral compass _ , as you call it.”

“Yes. Well. Although that is something that she has buried deep in her mind, it still affects her. But it isn’t the cause of her rage.”

“What  _ is _ it?” Ivan burst out.

“You’re not going to like the answer,” the doctor warned. 

“But I need to know,” Ivan said.

“It could cause either of your safeties to be compromised.”

“Just tell him,” Natalya said wearily.

“It’s you, Mr. Petravich,” the doctor sighed.

“Excuse me?”

“Your presence, your actions, your interruptions.”

“Natalya?” Ivan turned to look at her, pain filling his eyes. 

“It’s true. I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Tell him the other part of it so he doesn't think it’s all his fault,” she said to the doctor.

“After I discovered this, I wondered what emotion was driving the...lack of comfortability. There was no direct emotion that connected you and the anger, so I went wider. Failure. She cannot stand to fail.”

“But she’s never failed!” Ivan protested.

“But she’s come close, and she’s had to change her plans because of your interference. To her, this is failure. Not being able to complete a mission with optimal speed, precision, and invisibility is living below her potential. And it all goes against her conditioning and training, to do a messy job.”

“I don’t understand,” Ivan said weakly, haggard and embarrassed. “I’m a good agent.”

“Yes, you are, Mr. Petravich.  _ I’ve  _ heard of your work, and I almost never leave this office. My understanding is that your own personal feelings get in the way. That, and I don’t think you comprehend quite what she is capable of.”

Ivan laughed derisively. “That’s nonsense. I helped design the program. I made her what she is. I know exactly what she can do.”

The doctor shook his head. “She’s the best. She hasn’t even begun to show you. It’s almost magical how good she is. And you stop her from proving her worth.”

Ivan leaned back heavily, sick at heart. “Well. What do we do? I want her to be healthy and productive and...I just always dreamed of us working together forever, you know?”

“I would suggest a week off. Just let her train or teach the girls in the Red Room or even sleep as much as she wants. And then, I would change up who she goes out on missions with. Other men, ones closer to her age, and even some women or little girls. It would be good to change it up. It’ll make her think, improve her versatility, and perhaps, even if someone does make a mistake, all the anger will not be directed at you.”

“That sounds...reasonable,” Ivan said.

“Ah, wonderful! I’ll give each of you a copy of her report and send it up to headquarters. Good?”

“Fine.”

“And you, Natalya? How do you feel about this?” the doctor probed.

She shrugged. “I just want to get back on the field.”

“But you’re okay not being with Ivan?”

A shadow of a smile ghosted across Natalya’s face. “It’ll work. Somehow,” she said.

The doctor sighed in relief. “Brilliant. Now, let me just get a relaxant and antidepressant supplement for you...” he said, rattling around in his drawers. “Aha. Here we go. Now just take one of each every seven hours and see me back in...oh, two weeks. Alright?”

Ivan reached out for the bottles, but the doctor shook his head. “They’re for her. She will take them.” He placed them in Natalya’s hands, folded her fingers about them. “Be well,” he whispered. 

She slid off of the examination table, eyes downcast. “Thank you. I will.”

 

“What  _ are _ we going to do with you, Miss Romanova?” the fat man said, leering at her. 

She held her head high. “What the doctor suggested, I expect.” 

He laughed at her. “Whatever her training, she's not lacking in spirit, eh, friend Petravich?” 

“Ha. Yes. Indeed,” Ivan chuckled uncomfortably. 

“What do you think of what the doctor’s ordered?”

“I think it would be very....beneficial for her if the plan was to be carried out for the next few months, at least. What he said made sense.”

“How do you feel about not working with her?”

“It's part of the job, I suppose.”

“You are saddened?”

“Of course. We worked so beautifully together.”

“Not beautifully enough,” the man snorted. 

“Yes. Well. Indeed.” Ivan slumped against the wall, shoulders folded inwards, face afire. 

“Natalya?”

“Sir.”

“Meet your new partner.” 

He waved his hand, and a slender young man stepped out from the shadows. He smiled at her, and Natalya felt her heart beat a little faster. He was nice-looking, to be sure, but his face was so  _ kind _ . 

“Have I seen you before?” she asked, a little cautious.

He nodded eagerly. “I’ve piloted for you a few times.”

“What’s your name?”

“Shostakov.”

“Your first name?”

“Alexei.” He bowed to her. “And I know you. You’re The Black Widow.”

“Natalya,” she said.

“Natalya,” he repeated. Her name sounded pleasant on his tongue. 

“Why have you chosen a mere pilot as her partner?” Ivan burst out, face red and mustache twitching. “He’ll drag her down more than  _ I _ ever did.”

“We’ve been training him for awhile,” the fat man said. “He’s ready now. Natalya will be his senior; he’ll learn from her in the same way that she did from you.”

Ivan sunk against the wall again, eyes blazing. “You are dismissed, Petravich,” the fat man said, waving his hand carelessly. Ivan left; the room was tense with his fury. 

“Shostakov. Romanova. I won't be sending you out immediately. I suggest spending some time together. Get to know each other’s strategies and thought processes and fighting styles.” He tapped his fat fingers on the desk. “Well? Be off with you.” He waved his hand one last time, and Natalya and Alexei withdrew, sending small smiles the other’s way. 

“Where do you sleep?” he asked after the door was closed loudly behind them.

“I’ll show you. I have my own room. It’s nice. I can be alone when I’m not working.” 

They walked along the halls until they reached Natalya’s tiny chambers.

Alexei peered inside. “It’s real small, isn’t it?”

Natalya shrugged. “I slept in a room half the size of this with eleven other girls for nearly ten years. This place is...pleasant for me.”

“Where does your old partner sleep?”

“Outside my door, probably.”

Alexei grinned. “You’re not... _ with _ him, are you?”

She shook her head. “He adopted me as his daughter years ago.”

“But the way he looks at you...”

“I know. I hate it. But it’s part of the job,” she said philosophically. “I have that effect on people without even trying. It’s how they made me.” 

“It’s working on me,” he said, coming very close to her. The next second, he found himself on the floor, his limbs twisted behind him so that they burned and protested. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, laughing a little because he had expected nothing less from her. “I shan’t ever do anything or try anything again.”

She got off of him, eyes glinting. “You couldn’t, even if you were brave and bold enough.”

“I guess so,” he said. “I’ll be heading to my quarters now. Meet you in the gym?”

“Sure. Time?”

“Six sound good?”

Nodding, she slipped into her room. The lock clicked behind her.

“See you then,” he called, skipping away, a satisfied smile plastered on his face. He whistled once in exclamation. “What a woman,” he sighed. “The perfect partner. We’ll be unstoppable.”

 

As it turned out, Alexei didn’t really want her the way he’d suggested he did the first night that they met. Women weren’t really his type, he told her at the end of their first week training together.

“Do you mind keeping that to yourself?” he’d asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his face and voice.

“What’s one more secret?” Natalya shrugged, her eyes almost softening. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t mind, but they don’t treat people like me well when they find out about my...attractions. And I don’t want to lose my job. Or my life. Not yet. Not over this.” He bit his lip and swallowed hard.

“I understand.” She reached for his hand, looking into his eyes intently. “Good thing we’re both convincing actors.”

He smiled his devilish, flirtatious smile. “Good thing. Come on. I want you to teach me that one move...”

“No.”

“No?”

“Nope. The Black Widow doesn’t give her secrets away.” She returned his devilish grin in full measure (and then some).

“Come  _ on _ ,” he begged. 

“I divulge nothing.” 

He laughed, and they left together, leaving happiness behind them.

“It’s working out well,” the fat man said to Madame B. “They’re finding that they like each other.”

“I  _ told  _ you they were compatible,” Madame B. sighed. “Listen to me when I tell you these things. Do you have a mission for them yet?”

“I do. They’ll be going out in a six days to retrieve a machine we left behind at an enemy’s quarters or something like that. Just a simple mission to test their dynamics.”

“No.” 

“No? Do you have something else in mind?” the man scoffed.

“Send them out on a real mission, a hard one. Challenge them. They can do it. They have the proper rapport, and they respect each other, and that’s better already than anything she and Ivan had previously.”

“I’m not sure if that's a good idea. We don’t know if she’s stable yet...”

“I was right the last time,” Madame B. said. “But please, do whatever you feel is best.” She marched away, back stiff and expression chilly and triumphant. She knew she’d won. She always did.  

 

“So. They’re sending us out tomorrow,” Alexei murmured. He was stretched across Natalya’s bed, eyes closed. She was doing one of those weird routines, the ones where her body moved in ways that it shouldn't have been able to.

“I know,” she said. “Are you ready?”

“I am. I’m ready.” 

“Good.” 

Alexei marveled at how relaxed she was in his presence. Her facial expressions and mannerisms remained the same no matter who she was with--controlled, cold, capable--and yet he could sense a softening in her spirit in regards to him. 

“Talya? Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

She shrugged. “Sure. You're my partner. I trust you as much as I trust...say...Ivan.”

“Really?” He was disappointed with the answer, for he knew she hated the man.

“I trust you to get the job done and be competent and faithful.”

“But there's a difference, isn't there? In the way you trust him and you trust me?”

“I genuinely  _ like  _ you. I haven’t  _ liked  _ anyone since...since a girl in the Red Room.”

“What happened to her?”

“I killed her.”

“Oh.”

“I won’t kill you. Not unless you mess up.”

Alexei swallowed, eyes wide. “Is...is that so?” 

Natalya smiled a little, cautiously, as if it was new to her or difficult. “I’m joking. I think. That  _ is  _ joking, right?” 

“For you, yes.” He laughed then.

“I really do like you, Alexei.”

“And I you. If it were a different time and we were different people...”

“But this is now. And we are who we are. And I want to train one last time with you before you become my partner, my equal.”

“I’ll be your partner gladly. But never your equal. You know this.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “You are good, Alexei.” 

He was surprised at the emotion that rose in his throat. She had powers, this girl, to touch him in his heart. He wondered at her, how she could remove the emotion from herself and yet transmit the idea of them to those in her close proximity.

“Do you want to marry me?” he asked, as he pulled himself languidly off of her bed.

“That’s a little soon to be asking, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “No one will be surprised. The Madame, she has been planning this from the beginning. And it will keep us safer. They respect marriage a little here.”

“I know what you are thinking, what you are planning. If you marry  _ the  _ Black Widow, then your affections are secured. No one will ever doubt you.”

He nodded. “Of course. But it’s not just for my convenience. It will ensure that the men who work here don’t bother you. It’s convenient. It makes sense.”

“It does. But we would have to talk about some things. Make the story believable. Make it thorough and stable, just like a cover story for a sleeper agent.”

“Of course.” He stretched. “So. You’ll be my wife.”

“We’ll do it when we get back from our mission.” She smirked. “That’ll be a nice probationary period, a test to see how I like being that close to you.” She wagged a finger at him. “Remember, our marriage depends on your success.”

They wed one month later. The fat man pronounced them man and wife in front of his desk and jeered at them as they walked away, hand in hand. “I’ll give you three days for a honeymoon,” he said. “You can take a plane and fly yourselves there. Pity you can't make some little spy babies while you’re gone. I expect you’ll try, though.”

“Ignore him,” Alexei whispered in her ear. “He is crude and lonely and jealous of what we have.”

She shivered at how comforting and lovely he sounded to her, but “Wish he knew,” was the only thing she said aloud.

And she should have been content that surely,  _here_ was security, but that night, as they lay in a bed with a respectful distance between them, her eyes wouldn't close and her mind wouldn't hush. This will not end well for us, she thought despite herself. And sleep wouldn't come, so she stared out the window until the sun peeked over the horizon and Alexei sighed and yawned and grasped her hand companionably. 

"Good morning," she smiled, pretending like the worries in the dark had never happened. 

"Good morning, wife," Alexei said, giggling a little because here he was with the Black Widow in his bed, and all he could think about was breakfast and the mission they were going to be given as soon as they got back.

"If things were different..." Natalya started. 

"Mhm?"

"If things were different and we were different, we could be living on a farm and starting a family. There would be animals running around, and I would feel warm inside, and we would love each other. I think...I think that once, I knew something like that." 

"You can't trust anything you think you know," Alexei said. "They play with memories, inserting new ones whenever they please."

"I know. But I feel..."

"You don't feel anything. You are the Black Widow."

She nodded. "I'm sorry. You're right. What I said was pointless and foolish." She rubbed her hands on her nightgown. "Let's get dressed. I hear that the food here is very good, plentiful and rich and better than anything we usually eat." 

Alexei grinned. "Now you're talking sense." He slipped his nightshirt off, and his body was slim and muscled and beautiful. Natalya glanced at him. She wondered what it would be like if he were her husband in truth, and she felt sick and uncomfortable in her stomach because if he desired her, then she would have to sleep with him, and that hurt, and she always hated it when she had to do it for missions. 

"I am grateful to you," she murmured under her breath so he couldn't hear her. "I am grateful for the safety you give me." And she was. She really was. But still, the nagging suspicions would not leave her. I'll be spending a lot of time awake, she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> according to google translate, "Пауза, фермы девушка" means "pause, farm girl."
> 
> also the title is from alison krauss and union station's song "lie awake" from their album _paper airplane _which is absolutely beautiful just like everything else they've ever done__


	13. when i know i've got to be moving on

The years did not take a physical toll on Natalya Romanova, but they weighed on her just the same. A casual observer in a dimly lit pub that she visited often would have said that there was something dark in her eyes. Maybe it was with regards to her husband, the pretty man-boy who came to the bar with her but usually left with someone else. Maybe it had everything to do with the blood on her hands. Maybe it was a fear for her life. The fat man didn’t send her out very much anymore. He would say that they needed someone intelligent doing jobs, not a mere murderess, and if they couldn’t use their weapon, what use was it anymore?

She fumed at this. I am the best, she thought. I am everything they need, and I have never failed them. They know this well. Nevertheless, the space in between her missions was growing greater, and rumors began circulating.

They have a new Black Widow, some said. She’s breaking all of Romanova’s records.

They’re working on a _fresh_ project, others insisted. Someone greater than all the Black Widows in the world.

She ignored them, of course, sinking into herself. And Alexei wasn’t there anymore for her. She had thought, at first, that it could work, their partnership. And he was still kind (he was _always_ kind), but that didn’t satisfy the ache in her heart for something like she and Ali had once had. And his attention wasn’t on her except when they were working together. She missed the camaraderie they’d had in the beginning. It’s better than having  Ivan as your partner, she reminded herself. But sometimes, she wished she could just work solo and never again have to speak to another person.

Quitting never occurred to her. What else would she do besides kill? What else _could_ she do?

She was relieved when they called for her, told her that they were sending her to the city of Kuybyshev to settle down. They’d send further instructions once she was fully established there.

“Will...will my husband be coming with me?” she asked tentatively.

The skinny agent who’d handed her the slip of paper with instructions shook his head. “No, Madame. They’re k-keeping him here for other missions,” he stuttered.

“Alright. Thanks.” She looked at him curiously, head cocked to one side. “You should consider sleeping more. You’re pale, and I can see your bone structure far too clearly. And there are bags under your eyes.”

“I’d like to,” he said. “But...I have a lot of... _work_ right now. It’s more important than sleeping.” He gaped up at her. “Thank you for your concern, Madame.” He scuttered away. shoulders hunched protectively.

They’re hiding something, and he knows about it. Natalya thought. And that poor bastard is going to get in trouble because I only asked about his physical condition, and he went and talked more than he should have. They should’ve sent someone else.

She was in her room, packing her favorite weapons in a bag, before she considered that maybe they _wanted_ her to know that something was going on, wanted her to be wary and watchful and waiting. It was so unlike them, though, that she only kept it as a suggestion, something to think about when she was untangling the K.G.B.’s cryptic messages.

She lifted an intricately designed knife from inside her mattress and raised it to her lips. She didn’t use it much, just kept it with her on missions for luck. It was perfectly balanced, and she slipped it into the hidden sheath on her leg.

Alexei walked in, and she whirled around almost guiltily, smoothing the cloth over her leg so the sheath was masked once again.

“Hello, darling,” she said.

“I heard you’re going out tomorrow?”

“Yes. It’s a nice, long mission, too. It gets boring here.”

“I’m glad for you,” he said, His voice was sincere and calm, and Natalya felt the warmth in her chest that his kindness always inspired.

“Thank you. I wish you were coming.” She meant it, too. He always paid more attention to her when they were on a mission.

“Me too. Maybe I’ll find something to do around here besides eat and train.”

“You should keep training, though. Your hand-to-hand is improving steadily.”

He grinned, the beautiful smile he always her so freely. Impulsively, she leaned up to kiss his cheek. He stepped away, and she stumbled forward. Anger roared in her ears (or was it shame?).

“Natalya. You know how I am,” he said gently.

She touched his cheek. “I was just going to...there...not...anything else.”

He nodded. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re leaving.”

Folding her arms across herself, she turned away. “Maybe.”

He reached out to touch her, impulsive and kind and totally unaware of the depth of the trust that she’d placed in him, the attachment she felt, of how honest and open she’d been with him and him alone. “I just wanted to say goodbye,” he said finally.

“You said it. You can go now,” she said, her voice sharp.

He left without a word. She bit her tongue and blinked fast because she’d cared about him, and she didn’t want to let him go yet, but that was what someone in her line of work always did--let go. She touched the spot where her knife was once more, slipped under the covers of her bed, and closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed as did her heartbeat; her body rested. But her mind darted wildly from thought to thought, and she thought that maybe, she felt a tinge of regret.

The light pressure of a hand on her shoulder startled her awake, but she didn’t move until she saw that she was safe.

“It’s time to go, Widow,” said a voice in the dark. She leapt up, slipped her bag over her shoulders, and was out the door, jogging toward the lot. A small plane awaited her; she boarded quickly. The woman driving the plane nodded to her respectfully, handing her a folder filled with papers. “Your new identity, Widow,” she said.

“How long is the trip?” Natalya asked.

“Awhile, miss. Hours and hours. My boss said you should work on your new character.”

“Thank you, agent,” Natalya said. She rifled through the papers. Forged identification and papers were all in order and blissfully realistic. “Is there hair dye in the back?” she called.

“Should be.”

I’ve not gone this dark in a long time, she thought as she rubbed the dye into the roots of her hair. Undergoing a transformation such as this is always... _enjoyable_ , she thought. It’s pleasant to assume an identity that’s so innocent, so untrained. But I wouldn’t wish to be like that always. I _like_ knowing how use a hairpin to kill someone in fourteen different ways. At least, I think I do.

She slipped on one of the dresses provided for her, smoothing it out in a matronly way. Already, she was beginning to slip into the woman’s character. Nadia Kabinova. That was her name. A sweet, mild-mannered country girl moving to the city to teach children how to read and find find a husband. Nadia smiled with one side of her mouth when she was uncertain. Nadia blushed if anyone looked at her. Nadia loved roses and filled her house with them. Nadia had never been with a man. Nadia was lonely. Nadia was homesick. Nadia was Natalya and Natalya was Nadia and Natalya was Black Widow and Nadia was Black Widow.

Nadia stroked the knife strapped to her thigh. Inside of her, the Black Widow smiled as a wolf does before the kill, jaws snapping and saliva dripping and eyes narrowed in savage joy. She didn’t care who she had to kill as long as the bloodlust was sated eventually. Natalya swam hazily to the surface of Nadia-Black-Widow’s consciousness and wondered when it had happened that her job had become her pleasure, but Nadia-Black-Widow shushed her gently.

“When will we land?” she asked the pilot.

“We’ve got a ways to go, Widow.”

Nadia-Widow sank into a seat and closed her eyes. When she woke up, the the pilot was opening the helicopter’s doors. Before her, the sky was dark and cloudy, and the air was chilly. Shivering, she slipped into a deep green coat that lay next to her.

“Your bag, ma’am,” the pilot said, handing her the small case. “There’s a cab over there; it’ll take you straight to your new home. There’ll be another folder on your bed, just in case.” She bowed her respect and climbed back into the helicopter. The vehicle thundered away.

Nadia-Widow glanced around her. The area was dark and dank and unpleasant. Only a few buildings stood, and there were no lights in windows to welcome. A ghost town, she thought. Against a curb sat a car. She stepped over to it, glancing around her a little fearfully and tapped on a window. An unassuming man sat in the car, almost asleep. Jumping awake, he peered at her face then nodded. He hopped out and opened the back door, bowing deeply.

“Agent,” he said cheerfully.

“Nadia, sir.”

“Of course, of course.”

All the way to the city, he chattered to her of his dogs and the girl he wanted to marry and his little town and everything about him. Either he is a very bad agent (or a very good one), Nadia-Widow thought. He dropped her off in front of a dingy little boarding house.

“This is where I leave you, ma’am.” She took up her bags and made to go. He held out his hand. “You’ve not paid me, ma’am.”

He was very good. “Of course. I’m sorry.” She reached into her small handbag and pulled out a handful of coins. He pointed to a couple, and she gave them to him, and then he was gone. She climbed the stairs, peering around her in uncertainly like Nadia would. She raised a hand and tapped on the door.

“Ah. Miss Kabinova. We’ve been expecting you.”

* * * * * * * *

The job took four months and one week and three days to complete, and the target was dead, and the bloodlust was sated like. Again and again, she scrubbed her hair with a special soap to cleanse the dark dye. She went to the fat man and laid the report of her mission in its yellow folder before him.

“I want to see my husband,” she said.

“Widow. Sit down.”

Her stomach roiled. Please, she thought. _Please_.

“Your..husband...is dead. His plane crashed two months ago. We would have told you. But you were working.”

Her face was calm, of course. But her breaths were shallow and her hands gripped each other tightly. “Where did you bury him?” she asked finally.

“We didn’t. We don’t know quite where his body is.”

Her nostrils flared in anger. “He died for this establishment. The least you could do is honor his sacrifice.”

“An extraction would be too costly. Not worth the time or the money or the risk.” He chuckled. “You really are a Widow now.”

She stood. “I’m going to my room,” was all she said. But hate seeped through her voice, and for the first time, the fat man felt afraid of her, of what she could do to him. As she left the office, her back was straight. She radiated the very chill winter.

She crept to the roof of the building and laid awake the whole night and watched the stars on their slow paths. A vigil for Alexei, she thought. A comet shot across the sky, and momentarily, she wondered if it was his soul, burning up and brilliant and beautiful and fleeting. She lit a fire on the ceiling and placed in it a tiny, delicate necklace he’d given her. Eventually, it melted into a puddle of silver that reflected the night back to her. When it had hardened and the fire had burnt itself out and morning peeked tentatively over the horizon, she stretched and stood, body stiff.

Back in her room, she rifled through Alexei’s desk (she was surprised they hadn’t taken it) and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. _I’m working solo now,_ she wrote. _Completely alone_. She thought about how to sign it for a moment, then half smiled. Carefully, she drew the outline of a spider with the shape of an hourglass on its back. She stuck her head out the door. There was a servant out there, cleaning the agents’ rooms that were gone. “Girl.” The girl didn't move. "Girl." She walked over and waved her hand in front of her face. The girl looked up, eyes wide. “Take this to the man who runs this place. The fat one. Hand it to him. Or slip it under his door if he scares you. Just take care he receives it.”

The girl nodded, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something.

 _Are you deaf?_ Natalya signed to her. _Were you reading my lips?_

The girl signed _yes_ back.

_Were you deaf before you started working here?_

The girl’s eyes got big.

_Watch out that they don’t blind you, too. The bastards would do something like that. Just for fun. Just to break your mind._

The poor girl shivered.

_Did you know that I had a husband? They killed him. To spite me, probably._

The girl swallowed hard, fear obvious in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Natalya said aloud. _I’m sorry. You can go now_.

The serving girl scuttled out. Natalya sunk back into her room, locked the doors behind her, fell into bed. The ceiling spun strangely. She supposed that she was hungry; she couldn’t remember when she’d eaten last. I wonder what my name is, she thought listlessly. There’ve been so many...  

* * * * * * * *

_Progress Report:_

_Despite a few setbacks and learning curves--as expected with any developing program--the Red Room and Black Widow project is considered a success. Out of 285 females between the ages of four and eighteen that participated in the programs, 64 died from injuries and 44 from unknown causes. Thirteen were euthanized due to brain injury of fatal or incurable wounds, and four committed suicide. 83 girls did not progress well or thrive in the program and were sent home. 53 graduated the program and became working, capable agents, spies, and assassins. And 24 of our girls have truly earned the title of Widows. In case some are concerned about the number of children lost, the large majority were orphans with no immediate family who wished to take them in._

_Mental conditioning remains dependable and stable for most girls. We have only a very few cases where they, under extreme stress or duress, have ever had any kind of breakdown. Some were caused by specific triggers we had programmed into them that were accidentally touched by the situation. Others just broke down suddenly; we had not hardened them enough to the death and destruction that they had to cause. But we have learned since then. Our girls are nearly impenetrable now._

_After training is complete, agents are totally compliant. They do any task that they are commanded, and they do it without question. They are the perfect machine--sentient yet automatic. Occasionally, there are lapses in their physical health, but the serums take care of any problems, as well as accelerating healing when they are wounded._

_Obviously, females were a resource waiting to be used. Once sterilized, they generally show a ruthlessness and bloodthirstiness that is quite surprising, seeing as how they have been considered in times past to be the gentler sex. We have noticed that they are deadlier and more intelligent; they show great strengths in planning out missions, and they are generally more analytical and competent than their male counterparts, especially when great amounts of stress are applied._

_Now that we are assured of our success, I have a small suggestion concerning the practical, efficient usage of the spiderlings. Keep the Red Room running until the youngest student has graduated or failed or died. Then shut it down temporarily (until we have use of it again) and place the majority of the girls in cryofreeze until they are needed as is done with our associates and their assets. This will reduce the need for handlers and constant supervision of the weapons as well as eliminate the resources that are used to run the Red Room. With 74 agents out (we’ve lost three on missions), we really only have need of a few Widows at a time._

_I’m sure you’ve heard much of our most shining success, Natalya Romanova,_ the _Black Widow. She is the ideal weapon that young agents, and assassins and spies will compare themselves to for centuries. She can fit any role that one needs her for, and as the years have passed and she remains young, she changes her speech and style and way of being with them. She is flexible and brilliant and the best thing this program has ever created. I do not boast when I speak of her; merely, I tell the truth._

_Now, dear sirs, I have a reason that I am writing to you. True, you asked for a progress report on the Red Room and Widow programs. But I know that you are connected to Hydra. You can ask for a favor or a partnership. I would like to give some training opportunities to my girls. They are stuck in their work, and they have not learned anything new for quite some time. If you could arrange for their asset to come here for awhile, to train the girls better and maybe work a few missions, then I would be very grateful. Maybe we could send a few of ours over and start a good working relationship with them._

_Ivan Petravich_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short and the wait has been far too long, and for that, i am sorry. but i've decided to make this a series because it makes sense in my head to break it up. i've already started on the next bit, so that should be up decently soon (no promises tho).


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